Eyes Open
by whitequeen73
Summary: Alternative flaw of events; starts before Pilot. As it should have happened! I used scenes and dialogues from the canon and put them into a different light. I don't own those parts, just the rest. HAMERON & much of Wilson; M for language & eventual smut.
1. You're All I Have

**Chapter 1  
**You're All I Have

"_There is a darkness deep in you_  
_A frightening magic I cling to"__  
_______________________________

_Shoe one, shoe two, jacket, purse._

She sometimes just stopped, shaking her head, about her stupid little rituals. She can be so messy sometimes – most people around her wouldn't believe –, why she has to have these regular rushes of accurateness then? Counting her steps in the street, onetwothreefour-fivesixseveneight – she's not even into music too much. Counting how many times the comb brushes through her hair. Or, like now, admitting the steps of arriving home to herself.

She pulled an index finger through the edge of a shelf. Could be worse. No cleaning up today. (Not as if anyone would complain, even the landlord hadn't come around for months now.) No way. Not after today. She merited the rest.

Stretching her legs finally, with a (normally) totally distracting book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, she still couldn't stop her thoughts from violently revolving around one particular moment of the day.

_I don't want you to be giddy with success._

This one and only sentence had been all she finally had managed to force out of him. It had been said in a most phlegmatic way, not even said, just thrown somewhere into her direction, with a _let me go_ tone.

Not a truly satisfying explanation from a boss.

But the reason she couldn't get rid of these thoughts of an unlikely hidden meaning was not that simple.

He _knew_ she still was a probationer and he _knew_ the choice would be hers whether to stay or leave. She had three excellent positions offered up her sleeve: with Markson at Johns Hopkins, with Lauren at St. Luke's and with Yule at Jefferson. But despite the intimidating reputation, she couldn't resist accepting the one with _The_ Dr. House.

Who now, for some reason, tries to discourage her, that's for sure.

First she hadn't taken it personally. She had seen one or two things from superiors, and heard some about her present boss' beside manner. He's having a rainy day, she had explained the unashamed and almost wicked innuendos in the first days. But later on she had been getting unsure. Can a man have a bad day _everyday_? She'd already known though that behavior wasn't everything. She knew he was an excellent doctor, he can allow himself not to bother with politeness, at least not when alone with his employees. He must be doing this for better efficiency: let's leave the babble out, get straight to the point and cure the patient. Moreover his pushing had been quite inspiring too, for her and obviously for her two co-workers as well. When you have to prove your competence each and every second of the differential, your brain comes up with ideas you would never think of if you worked half-heartedly.

These excuses had worked perfectly until the first comment about Foreman's criminal record (moreover with an unveiled racist message), followed by one about Chase's accent in a dizzyingly short time. First she hadn't believed her ears and had been short of breath. There can't be a pardon for a personal attack, committed clearly for its own sake. She couldn't help giving House a killing look. She never had been good in disguising what on her heart was. To her shock, he'd returned it with a totally unexpected one. In the narrowed steel-blue eyes there had been smugness, challenge and – curiosity?! As if he had directed his words straight to her, to see what her reaction would be. But that's foolish: why he wanted to taunt her, her of all people? She hadn't even seen a sign of him noticing she was a woman. Or that she would be different in any way.

After a few seconds, he'd been the one breaking the eye contact, returning to the white board. She had raised an eyebrow, but then focused her thoughts back on the patient's file.

Days passed and sarcastic verbal pokes stayed by. Except towards her. She had been confused and getting slightly annoyed, already dreaded when the guys would spot this kind of preferring and start mocking (or worse, envying or hating) her being House's pet. He hadn't had the right to keep her in such an uncomfortable situation. But the thing that had made her upset the most had been that she had had no clue about his intentions for doing that. Of course there had been the obvious, but that hadn't been there. It had crossed her mind, but after a few days of keen observation she had had to state he didn't give a damn about her as a woman. Honestly, he didn't seem to give a damn about _anybody_ as a woman. Not counting the ever-present comments about Cuddy's – Dean of Medicine – cleavage, but those were clearly just for pissing her off, which seemed to be one of his favorite occupations. This obvious asexuality and the amount of time spent with Dr. James Wilson, head of Oncology, started a train of thoughts (not only for her, but also boosted the hospital gossip mill), but she dropped this option as well when she heard about Wilson's particular interest in (female) nurses. Not to mention that she could hardly picture her grumpy boss skipping through a meadow, hand in hand with a man, with cheery squeals.

Couldn't he dig up anything embarrassing about her? She doubted that. His basic instinct of spotting the slightest details made him close to a genius. And he had a particular talent for smelling lies.

She sat up, tucked her legs beneath herself and wrinkled her brow anxiously. Had he figured out something? He doesn't treat her like crap because – he's sorry for her?!

She shook her head. She wouldn't want that. She had learnt to separate work from personal life – at least while doing the previous. Those brief but regular periods of time spent sobbing in an outlying area of the hospital were a horse of another color.

She couldn't help getting seized by an ice-cold dread each time she had to face death. Not the sudden one that shot like God capturing a pawn in some giant chess game (not that she didn't feel extremely small feeling the spark of a mystery called life going out between her helpless hands), but she hated to see that indefinable _something_ in people's eyes who knew the inevitable was close. That their future was not an open horizon anymore, like for the rest of us. And she hated that she had to see they didn't become any special by the closeness of death. They accurately followed the well-defined stages of grief. They lost their individuality in the end.

She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. Now she'll never know why she couldn't leave this attitude: because she subconsciously drew a parallel with her own life or that was just what her nature was like. Not sure, because she couldn't remember what it felt like to be younger than 21 anymore.

*

"Foreman: do an MRI. Chase: tox screen. Cameron: get a family history – this time a useable one, adverting to children's illnesses. On you marks, get set, go!" – with this, he returned to the white board, his brain working hard to figure out what they were missing. Honestly, he just sent his ducklings away to be able to think without any distraction. True, their ideas were not that foolish either, but he was almost sure that none of these tests would come back positive. Would be too evident. And Occam's razor doesn't work on this case.

But something distracted him anyway. A tiny sound, almost like a tweet. He turned around and noticed that the source of it was nothing but his youngest and most silent employee, clearing her throat. He gave her a reproachful look.

"I didn't know my voice had become inaudible for females. Interesting phenomenon. Maybe I should write an article about it! Or do you want it? You seem more a typing kind."

She didn't recoil, kept staring with decided eyes straight into his, but was giving away her nervousness with licking her lips and hands visibly knuckled in her lab coat pockets. He rolled his eyes. He knew this was coming, could predict weeks ago from the angry sparks in her eyes and the disappointed voice whenever she tried to contradict him and failed. They have to get over this.

"Oh for sure if you're immune to my voice, you couldn't hear my last sentences either. What..." – he drew a huge question mark into the air with his cane-free hand – "...can I..." – he pointed to his chest – "...do..." – he almost made a completely indecent movement, but stopped in mid-air – "...for you?" – instead of an index finger, he held out his palm towards her, with a fake politeness, slightly bowing his head.

Cameron's mouth twitched, but she managed to suppress her smile. Yet she rolled her eyes – a boss fooling around in such an exaggerated way was still odd for her.

"We have to talk." – she finally declared.

Great, she found the one sentence he hated to hear the most.

He sighed, grabbed a chair from the table and lumped down into it. He sat back comfortably and started to swing, balancing with his good leg. He smirked contentedly and cheeky at how much this stunt was scaring her.

"We don't _have to_, but we _will_. About...?"

"About yesterday."

"Not sure which part of it you mean exactly. But I suppose you're not pissed off about the way I brushed my teeth in the morning."

"I was right. I was the one figuring out she was lying about birth pills. I know, we are a team, but..."

"You have a point there..."

"But you twisted the whole thing so that in the end it seemed as if you were the genius coming up with the idea!"

"I'm older. I'm taller. Probably I'm stronger too. I have a primacy with ideas."

"But...!"

"Okay listen now. This is how we work. That's what differential diagnosis is all about. Your idea, my idea, ninety percent is proven to be nonsense; one is the right one we can cure the patient with. Almost an accident. You're not any smarter or a better doctor if you are the one coming up with that right one. You're just the lucky one."

"If it works the way you're saying, why don't you just work with computers that give you random explanations for input symptoms?"

"Because that's not how medicine works. We have general schemes, but each case is individual and changing each moment. Especially in our department. And you have to be able to react immediately to the change, throw your whole theory away, if necessary, and start it all over again. Or even gather information, which seem totally irrelevant, and add to or subtract them from the puzzle. Machines can't do that."

"Are you trying to say there must be humans to treat humans?"

"No. Treating illnesses is why we became doctors, treating patients is what makes most doctors miserable."

There was a moment of silence. Then her indignation surfaced again.

"Anyway, you embarrassed me. In front of my colleagues, who can spread gossips about me, and spoil my reputation I'm trying hard to build. You know I'm still not sure where to end working."

"But momentarily _I'm_ your boss."

"Exactly. And I don't feel that you would appreciate me or my ideas too much. You don't even let me show what I can do."

"It's possible you're a bit lost. We're saving lives in here. Doing our best to solve the puzzle before we run out of time. This is a call, not just a good springboard. If you need to be cherished and praised every moment of the work, this is just not the right place for you."

These were hard words for her to hear, but she knew she was close and she couldn't let herself be outfaced now. In contrast with her last, almost shouted sentences, she continued in a forced calm, low voice.

"Then why don't you mock me like the others? Why don't you try to make me stronger?"

There was a sharp sound as House's chair tipped back on the floor. He stood up, turned his back to Cameron and started pouring himself some coffee, visibly just as concentrated as performing brain surgery.

She was waiting patiently for some seconds. But when she understood she wouldn't get any answer, she couldn't stop the question that didn't leave her alone for days, from bubbling over.

"Why did you hire me?"


	2. Hands Open

**Chapter 2  
**Hands Open

"_It's hard to argue when_  
_You won't stop making sense"__  
_______________________________

"Why did you hire me?"

The question lingered in the air between them. Finally he answered, or rather, tried to push the question away, and Cameron couldn't get rid of the feeling that he was acting like a schoolboy, caught with a hand in the cookie jar, and now decided to disclaim till the end.

"Does it matter?"

"Kind of hard to work for a guy who doesn't respect you."

"Why?"

"Is that rhetorical?"

"No, it just seems that way because you can't think of an answer." – he measured the sugar with a particular care, only throwing her looks of milliseconds while talking.

"Does it make a difference what I think? I'm a jerk. The only thing that matters" – he gave her a challenging look – "is what _you_ think. Can you do the job?"

She was right, she thought. He's a jerk on purpose. He doesn't seem to do anything without a good reason. This fact gave her a bit of relief and a lot of security. It's not impossible that she might stay.

Anyway she pushed on, now being on the rail. Not sure if she can catch his boss for a chat like this again. And she must know the truth.

"You hired a black guy because he had a juvenile record." – there was a hint of mock in her voice.

Just the previous week, he had sent them to break into a patient's house to investigate what toxins he could have been in contact with, and he'd insisted on Foreman being the one to go, because "he knows his way around with locks". Foreman had given in, but had told House to send her with him, as having a "white chick" with you when you're a black guy caught in burglary is definitely an advantage. She had made a resigned grimace when hearing this – good to feel useful, again.

"Nooo, it wasn't a racial thing!" – he mocked – "I didn't see a black guy, I just saw a doctor... with a juvenile record. I hired Chase 'cause his dad made a phone call."

The corner of her mouth twitched. She even could believe he wasn't joking, though she kind of liked the angel faced Australian, even with his phlegm manner and being a sheer eager beaver sometimes, because she knew his heart was made of gold. And this was, without any doubts, a primal aspect for her in judging people. That's why she needed to take a look behind her boss' walls, to know how to approach him.

"I hired you... because you are extremely pretty."

The world made a dizzying turn around with her, with a mentionable speed. She thought she misheard it. Her eyes narrowed in anger.

"You hired me to get into my pants?!"

"I can't believe that that would shock you."

Her knees felt giving way in any second. She hoped she was dreaming. After all those years... all those work... Her worst nightmare seemed to come true at that one moment.

"It's also not what I said." – She released a short breath she was keeping. – "No, I hired you... because you look good." – he shrugged a shoulder – "It's like having a nice piece of art in the lobby."

_Art in the lobby?!_ she mouthed. She caught House's glance not into her eyes, but towards her cleavage. She suddenly felt dirty, cheap and extremely embarrassed. House casually limped towards his office, steaming red mug in the hand. Cameron couldn't help having a thought crossing her mind: _no, I don't want any coffee, thank you for asking_. But she quickly shooed it away: there are much more serious issues in the air now. She followed his boss to his office, lab coat floating around her ankles.

"I was at the top of my class!"

"But not _the_ top."

"I did an internship at the Mayo Clinic!" – she hated that her voice sounded as if she burst out crying in any moment. Even if she knew that righteous indignation made it tremble, not suppressed tears. Yet.

"You were a very good applicant." – House granted.

"But not the best."

House sat down into his armchair, and continued the casual swinging he started back in the diagnostic room. It was written all over him that he started enjoying this conversation. This made Cameron furious. Tears of helplessness made her throat tight. No matter what, she wouldn't allow him to see her weak. Even is she was bound to lose this debate and her whole world was about to fall into pieces.

House was now openly observing her face with an amused smile, making clear this being a test.

"Would that upset you, really, to think that you were hired for some genetic gift of beauty instead of some genetic gift of intelligence?"

"I worked very hard to get where I am." – Cameron admitted defiantly.

"You didn't have to! People choose the paths that gain them the greatest rewards for the least amount of effort. That's a law of nature, and you defied it! _That's why _I hired you. You could've married rich, you could've been a model, you could've just shown up and people would've given you stuff - lots of stuff! - but you didn't. You worked your stunning little ass off." – Each of his words were like needles stinging into her. That's exactly what she tried to avoid since she was trying to "defy the law of nature", and went into med school. The pain his words caused made her sarcastic.

"Am I supposed to be flattered?"

"Gorgeous women do not go to medical school." – then he pretended falling into deep thoughts – "...unless... they are as damaged as they are beautiful."

She swallowed hard. _He knows!_

"Were you abused by a family member?"

Her eyes widened, she almost tumbled from the unexpected question, asked as casually as inquiring about weather. She was totally gimped up now.

"No!" – she gasped.

"Sexually assaulted?"

"No!"

"But you _are_ damaged, aren't you?"

The scanning look seemed to get straight through her skin, right into her. Then her pager went off.

*

She didn't have too much sleep that night. She kept trying to solve the puzzle that she didn't even have all the pieces of, and she had no clue what the final picture would look like. She desperately tried to gather the fragments of information from her short time working in Princeton-Plainsboro, and the short acquaintance with Dr. Gregory House.

When the dawn started to break over the rooftops, she was sound asleep with the ghost of a smile of knowing on her lips. She had heard enough times the word of categorical judgment, which made sure that no-one would be able to convince Dr. House to accept a case or give any of his precious time to someone: _boring_. Slowly the revelation came for her, and she began to feel proud about being particular, this way or another. He didn't want to get into her pants. He found her interesting.

*

The next morning, during the differential, House proposed her to go and hold their current patient's hand, her tears of empathy might cure his tumor. She couldn't suppress a happy smile. He finally got a grip on her.

That afternoon, she signed her contract in Cuddy's office.

*

Thwack... thwack... – ...thwack.

House caught the red and gray lacrosse ball again, rolled it between his hands for a while, then threw it back onto the wall, without even noticing his own actions. His eyes were staring unfocused somewhere into mid-air between his cane, hanging on the edge of the desk and his Vicodin bottle, standing on top of it.

Nice hit with that piece of art in the lobby thing. He mentally patted himself on the shoulder. Hopefully he managed to offend her well enough to keep her away from personal approaching for a while. Why he hired her. As if it mattered any. Clear that she tried to gouge some compliments out of him, but she's knocking on the wrong door. Professionally _and_ personally. He wasn't a head-patting type of a boss and he didn't lead small talks. But yesterday he almost lost control over his face for a second.

She had been sitting there, during the differential, sunken deep in her thoughts, visibly thinking about everything but the case. She had pouted her lips in that childish way that always made him feel a sudden urge to grab her and kiss her till she was breathless. And then release her and erase her mind. So much for this. He released a short, resigned sigh. You can't always get what you want.

He wasn't surprised or puzzled at all that he liked her. He was a healthy (well, almost) and grown (well, almost...) man, despite his reputation. And thoughts like that never caused him any problems, as he was king of disguising feelings (and quite proud of it).

Though this pleasant fact wasn't the reason he had chosen her from all the other applicants. He had told her the truth. It wasn't even present at that time. It developed slowly, parallel with his growing interest and curiosity for her. Especially thanks to those moments of incredible sexual tension when she was angry with him. That's why he was taunting her all the time. Wanted to see her eyes go storm-colored, her brows be pulled together and her lips part slightly and become dry from angry passion, so she has to flick out a tongue to moisten them. He sighed again, heavily, but smirked to himself. Not the worst thing on Earth to be able to steal moments like this while working. They didn't do any harm to anybody; he never wanted to go any further. The slim brunette Dr. Cameron wasn't really his type; moreover he wouldn't want to lose her as a great labor – despite all she was thinking, he completely forgot about naughty thoughts when he was carefully listening to her theory about the case.

The only reason he couldn't respect her (that wasn't a bad judgment at all, regarding that there were very few people he respected any) was her mild, naïve and emotional nature. He always had to roll his eyes facing her childish insistence on every people being honest and having pure goodness somewhere deep inside them. In his less bad days he just mentally smiled at her and even felt a little bit good meeting such innocence, but sometimes he felt anger rising inside him. She has a hell of a lot to learn. Learn the lesson he knows so bloody well, had to learn it through incredible pain and suffering. When his woman had been leaning over his sickbed, the last thing he had seen, while the drugs had been kicking in and he'd slowly sunk in a coma, being her wide, honest eyes while she'd ensured him in a steady voice that, despite the extreme risk, they would respect his will and would follow his instructions affecting his almost entirely dead right thigh muscle; then he'd woke up missing more than half of it. From that moment on, the basic axiom is there, never to be forgotten, always being the first thing to mind in every situation, personal or professional life, where there are any humans involved: _everybody lies_.

Suddenly he cut all these thoughts in a split second, grabbed the edge of the desktop and tried to quickly disappear under the desk. He cursed himself being a cripple, because he was too late: the reason of his panic already reached the glass door (damn, he forgot to close the blinds – not that that would have protected him, it never had), in the tightest skirt still agreeing with the laws of nature (and the basic attributes of materials), now popping her head in the office. The very moment she opened her mouth, House winced and covered his eyes with his palm, already mouthing the forthcoming four words, a moment before they fell from Cuddy's lips:

"House! Clinic duty, NOW!"

"I hid, you can't find me!!!" – House yelled. A bypassing janitor made a dumbfounded face (must be a newbie), but Cuddy didn't seem impressed. She closed the distance with two determined steps and snatched his hand off his face. The man was grinning. Another pleasant side effect of working here (unless this time a little masochistic), he thought, capturing with his eyes all the details he could from this closeness.

"House. You _know_ almost all my useable doctors are off sick. I hate to say this, but I need you."

"Oh c'mon. You don't have to degrade yourself. But OK, meet you in your office in ten minutes. Wear the red thong that you had last Wednesday on, if it works."

Cuddy rolled her eyes as hard as they impended with falling off. For a split second, a tiny voice in her head asked what had given her choice of lingerie away last Wednesday... but she quickly composed herself and cut the way to any more excuses.

"If you don't check in in five minutes – don't say a word, that must be enough even for a poor cripple to take his ass down –, my pen will slip a bit while doing the next roster, and I'll accidentally add an extra zero to your clinic hours." – she returned with one hand on the doorframe and a fake-girlish smile on her face – "You don't wanna try if I'm really able to do that, believe me."

Now it was House's turn to roll his eyes. Then he lifted himself up from the chair with difficulty, grabbed the amber bottle, threw two pills in his throat and dry-swallowed them, making a mental note to prepare an Evil Plan against his boss in his next free time, something between putting Palma Tex on her chair and changing her birth pills to laxative. With this done, he finally started limping towards the elevators, frightened nurses jumping out of his way to both sides.


	3. Chasing Cars

**Chapter 3  
**Chasing Cars

"_I need your grace to remind me_  
_To find my own"  
_______________________________

Patients. Nurses, then patients again; patients sitting, standing, reading, waiting. Patient patients. Whoa, this was, without any doubts, the most tragic word joke of the day, the oncologist thought while he fought his way through the crowd to Exam Room Two. He expected his friend to be found lounging on the examination table with either a game boy or some magazine (on his more cowardly days, they may be hidden in a medical atlas), but to his surprise, the grouchy doctor wasn't alone. A redheaded, shirt-sleeved young man in a loosened tie was sitting on the table. Until this point, the scene would have been completely traditional, if his doctor hadn't been sitting next to him, a bag of chips tucked between the two of them and a mini-TV blaring some baseball match in front. After ten years, surprising Wilson wasn't an easy task anymore; however now, his eyebrows sprang high when he stepped into the room.

"Sorry for asking the obvious..." – he started carefully – "but what the hell are you doing?!"

"Knicks." – he got the brief answer from House, who only turned his gaze away from the small screen for a second when he entered the room, and now focused his full attention back to the game. His companion quickly scanned Wilson through from head to toe, and when he didn't judge him dangerous, followed his doctor's example. Wilson though couldn't resist the urge to ask the next logical question:

"Who is this guy?"

"Patient." – House went on with one-word answers.

"He's examining me." – the ginger guy explained. This time, House also found that the situation needed a more detailed explanation.

"He's got to go back to work as soon as I'm done with the examination." – he made a thoughtful face – "Guess I do too."

Wilson grinned disbelievingly.

"No you won't. Somehow you'll manage to fink out of your task anyway. Since when you're so understanding and ready to help?"

House gave him a contemptuous look, in exchange for the rude insult.

"I'm NOT. And keep your squeals lower, the hallways are full of nurses, and I've got a reputation to keep."

"You can say whatever you want, I know Dr. Cameron is getting to you!"

"Who's getting to you?" – the patient pried into the conversation.

"You don't know her." – House shook him off. Wilson teased on.

"Well, I guess you can't be around that much niceness and not get any on you."

The alarm inside House went off, and he immediately mobilized his forces for a preventive attack.

"Is that why you haven't put the moves on her?"

Wilson made an almost perfectly innocent face.

"What makes you think I haven't put the moves on her?" – then he contentedly observed the shock spreading over his friend's features, and victoriously pointed an index finger on him, with a "Gotcha!" expression.

"Oh... oh BOY!" – then he shook his finger into his face – "You're in trouble."

Until that moment, the patient's eyes were just zigzagging between the two doctors, as if watching a table tennis match, but now he couldn't stop his amusement, and put an arm around House's shoulder, shaking him slightly, like a long-time schoolmate.

"You DOG! You slept with her!"

"Yes." "No!" – Wilson and House replied at once. The latter found the time right for putting the nosy guy back into his place.

"Keep talking, and I'll finish your examination with a prostate check."

"Young, ingénue doctor falling in love with gruff, older mentor." – Wilson explained in a daydreaming tone and with a matching face – "Her sweet gentle nature bringing him to a closer, fuller understanding of his wounded heart."

The patient seemed to turn up his toes from joy. With a dead sober face, he instructed House.

"Do her. Or you're gay."

An expression of enlightenment appeared on Wilson's face, which immediately induced House to roll his eyes, grab his cane and start towards the door with a murmured "For God's sake...". Wilson quickly woke up from his newborn theory.

"Wait! I needed to talk to you."

"You did... and did a great job, thanks." – House grunted. He didn't stop for a second, so his friend had to join him towards the reception, even having some difficulties with keeping up with the quick limping.

"It's about tomorrow... I can't go with you, sorry!"

"What?! You simply can't do this to me! I was almost compelled to give sexual services for those passes!"

"You said you knew someone who knew someone."

"Whatever; what the hell could be more important than two tickets to Paradise itself?!"

"Lecture at the oncology dinner; Bergson off. No way I can wimp out of it.

"But you love..."

"No, House, _you_ love them. You used to drag me with you, and I used to enjoy myself, cos for some weird reason, I enjoy your company."

"Oh don't come with the lame crap! No way I forgive you for betraying me!" – House signed the duty form, and a moment later, he stood by the elevators, pushing the button with his cane, yelling his last sentence all through the hall to his stranded friend, still standing by the counter with his hands open. – "YOU'RE-NOT-MY-FRIEND-ANYMORE!!!"

Wilson slightly blushed under the dozens of gazes that turned towards him at once, and rolled his eyes while the elevator doors closed in front of his best friend's stuck-out tongue.

*

The unsuspecting subject of the conversation sat beside her desk, organizing his boss' mail into piles by (his) order of importance. Neat hands were flipping through the mess House managed to stack up in months of total ignorance.

It all started when she had caught him late after work hours, his elbows on the spread papers all over his desk, browsing through the track list of his iPod, and then quickly grabbing one random envelope when spotting her in the doorway. She hadn't felt like going home (what's waiting for her anyway? She even managed to kill her only roommate, a poor helpless cactus), so she'd offered him to help. She hadn't still known him enough though; she had expected some romantic overtime together with her boss, instead House had stood up relieved, grabbed his coat and wished her good night. Next morning, he hadn't said a word about the tidy stacks on his desk, but he pushed a mug full of coffee into her hands; the fact that, like every morning, she was the one making the coffee, hadn't detracted any from the solemnity of the act. Since then, her scope of activities had been extended.

She was just hesitating over a congratulation letter from one of the most respected professors of the east coast, whether to put it straight into the trash pile or "may I skim over them when I'll be extremely bored" pile, when House stormed into the room.

He was unusually silent and somehow tense. He took an at least three years old file from the bookcase and started thumbing over it, pretending concentration. Cameron easily saw through him, and suppressed a slight smile at the thought that lucky he wasn't holding the document upside down. She stayed bent over the desk, congratulation letter in her hands, but she stealthy kept her eyes on him. House cleared his throat, still staring at the old file.

"Er... Patient still on steroids?"

"Yes." – Cameron answered carefully, waiting patiently for the main part to come.

"Any changes?"

"Not yet."

House was nodding for a few seconds, uncomfortably trying to gather his thoughts. Finally he spoke up.

"I'm..." – no; erase, rewind, play again – "Do you like Monster Trucks?"

Cameron stared at him, puzzled.

"I don't know what they are..."

Of course she doesn't, House thought. Definitely not the type.

"Right. Er... I got two tickets. Tomorrow night."

Cameron suddenly felt her heart in her throat.

"Are you asking me to go with you?" – she asked disbelievingly. She wasn't sure what the right reaction would have been.

"Sure! Sounds good." – House said with a false nonchalance.

"Like a... date?" – Cameron pronounced the last word as if walking on eggshells.

"Exactly! ...Except for the _date_ part."

Cameron's turn to be nodding a bit longer than necessary. Her brain gave up working.

"Well, I was gonna go to the oncology dinner to listen to Dr. Wilson's lecture, but..."

House felt an awkward squeezing feeling in his guts. Must have been the two Vicodins for breakfast. But this didn't explain his friend's voice in his head: _Who said I didn't put moves on her?_

"Right. Forget it." – he slapped the file closed and stroke out towards his office. Cameron quickly came to her senses and called after him.

"But that was... I just thought..." – her voice broke off, because House wasn't listening anymore. She was left alone with her racing thoughts and a slightly dumb face.

_Allison, STOP thinking!_ she told herself, pushed a hand on the forehead, then shook her head and stood up. She popped her head into his boss' office.

"So... what do we wear???"

*

The goosiest question she could have asked, she cursed herself deeply blushing, critically observing her wardrobe's contents. According to a quick Google search the day before, stunt cars must be something masculine, so the proper outfit would be something cool. Her choice fell on a pair of dark shaded jeans, black boots and a matching leather jacket. She put on just a minimum makeup and left her dark hair fall loosely over her shoulders. She checked the result in the mirror and already felt slightly rowdy.

A single honk sounded from the parking lot. They agreed she didn't expect him to climb all those stairs. But if she even had had any pitiful thoughts about a poor handicapped man, they would have disappeared the moment she stepped out the building. Her jaw dropped and she thought she might be hallucinating. She guessed they would go a bit wild tonight, but not _this_ much...

The sight that brought her to this reaction was nothing but a tall man in a sporty leather coat, sitting on a huge, orange-red Repsol painted motorbike.

"Dr. House... wha... what is _this_?!" – she gasped.

"A Fireblade. You can call me Gabriel tonight." – House answered smugly.

Yes, it hadn't been long ago, a week or two that he'd arrived to work in that jacket and sunglasses. To her question he just had pulled a hand through his hair with an exaggerated elegance and said: "_It keeps me warm – and cool"_.

_Sure she is the first to notice,_ he had thought. _She has an eye for details – maybe she's not completely hopeless in diagnostics. Oh wait, no, this doesn't prove anything. She always had an eye for – him._

But the bike remained unnoticed until now. Good. A sheer chick magnet. A shocking surprise. Part of the plan.

He'll show them. If they want it to be this way, they'll see. See that nobody can get to Gregory House against his will anymore.

He threw Cameron the spare helmet. She hesitated for a second but quickly pushed her worries away and climbed onto the passenger seat. House grabbed her hands, woodenly holding on somewhere on the body, and wrapped her arms around his waist. He couldn't see the beautiful smile shining up at his actions, still his evil intended grin came out as an almost perfect reflection of the other, happy and honest one. He pulled on the throttle, the engine started roaring beneath them with all its force, and they sped out the parking lot, towards the highway.


	4. Shut Your Eyes

Okay, now it's really time to start to communicate with you, my dear readers :) It's damned hard when I only can post one single review per chapter... at least I think so... I'm still quite confused how things go on this site... :-S

So sorry about the late update. I'm about to get my degree and other irrelevant things like this :) But hopefully the next chapters will come more easily.

Two very important things I haven't mentioned yet: I have a lot to thank to _~Vicodin-addict117_, my dear beta reader and supporter and friend; and sometimes even muse, with her sweet, gentle nature bringing me to a closer, fuller understanding of Cameron's character...!:)))

And also I'd like to thank YOU for reading my story; and special thanks to my kind reviewers (in order of appearance xD): _~VisualIDentificationZeta_, _~AllyCameron_, _~sabu53_ and _~SexyScottishDoc_ for their encouraging and precious opinion! I hope you'll stand by 'till the end! :)

I'm especially happy that even though I know I'll never be able to write like a "native", everybody seems to enjoy my writing! :) I'm trying to develop my English even more, so that grammar mistakes and non-existent expressions don't distract too much from the joy!:) If you find a particularly annoying one of the mistakes above, please send me a note. Thanks a lot!

And a bonus thanks: to _~EnchantedApril_, my idol, the reason I brought myself to fanfic writing, but also the reason I hesitated for months whether to dare to start anything in the same category with her!... :) Guys, if you want **_real_** Hameron... check out her stories!!! She's above all of us. (I don't wanna offend anybody :) )

As for the last reviews: yes, the main point of my story (& House, M.D. series...?:) ) is House being a jerk :) Will Cameron hold on, or will she become even more damaged, sarcastic and tough, just like his boss...?;) And don't worry: she'll get home safely... If you have no clue what I'm talking about, read the chapter below! Enjoy :)

* * *

**Chapter 4  
**Shut Your Eyes

"_By the fire we break the quiet  
Learn to wear each other well"  
_______________________________

The dust formed a thick cloud over the huge stadium and the surrounding lot. Some loud music was still on, blaring, but her ears were almost missing the noise of roaring engines and crashing metal. Her heart was still racing from adrenaline and she felt like jumping and dancing like a kid. She didn't care that sand covered her skin and hair and was also crunching between her teeth, or that she was practically half-deaf – the past hours were worth everything. The giants doing such stunts that if she had been watching it from further or on TV, she might had thought she had seen matchboxes. But they had been sitting in the first row of a V.I.P. sector, so the trucks had been jumping banks and car wrecks and buses, spinning on two, then one huge wheel with a dizzying speed just in front of them.

And not to forget the whole new man she had seen next to her, the brief moments she had dared to blink towards him. It wasn't the bitter, sarcastic superior she had known from Princeton-Plainsboro anymore. What she had seen had been an enthusiastic, child-like not-quite-old man, laughing and shouting at the most thrilling moments, apparently forgetting about the whole world outside the stadium.

And now he's walking next to her, a ridiculous green cap from the merchandise shop on his head, and cotton candy in the hands of both of them. It seemed to her like sweeties were an inherent feature of this kind of amusement, and she wanted to behave appropriately (not that she could have resisted House, keeping pushing new packages – bought from the moving vendor – into her hand), therefore by that time she felt slightly gingered up from sugar. As if she had been tickled by something in her stomach. She felt like babbling a thousand silly things, still she only said:

"That was AMAZING!"

House smirked, satisfied.

"I'm telling you, Gravedigger never disappoints!"

They fell silent for a few seconds. Then a young couple passed by before them, huddled together and giggling. Allison followed them with her glance unashamedly, while House tried to pretend not having noticed anything. He suddenly began to feel uncomfortable, being alone with someone else than Wilson, after a long time. What can she be expecting now?

"You ever been married?" – she asked casually. Her hormone system, shuffled by different influences today, didn't allow her to keep the honest curiosity in.

House's smile faded. Now that's exactly the last topic he wanted to discuss tonight.

"Well now, let's not ruin a lovely night out by getting personal." – he grunted. Cameron didn't say a word, just kept observing his face. The tension in House grew higher and higher. Damn, he had always known this girl knew a thing about empathy and people, but now he was really feeling the irresistible power of the silent urging. He had to spit the words out, each of them with a great strain.

"I lived with someone for a while."

With the last word out, a sluice lifted inside his head and the awkward memories flooded his brain, those he was working so hard to keep isolated. Tension, fighting, passion and burn, burn, burn – the heat he felt everywhere quickly concentrated in his thigh as the last, crucifying pitch of the whole story. He reached for his Vicodin and dry swallowed two at once.

Cameron lifted her eyebrows. Wow, this was impressive. She almost felt being blown away by the anger radiating from the man beside her. She must have dug into something particularly sensitive. Not that she had great memories of relationships... Her face frowned.

"Do you feel like going home already?" – House suddenly asked in a much lighter tone. He made the decision. He mustn't risk to be burnt again. But this evening doesn't have to end like this, either. He didn't feel like fighting with these thoughts the rest of the night.

"Um, not really. I don't have anything urgent to do."

"Fine. Then let's go!"

"I'll race you to the bike!" – Cameron laughed cheekily. But her boss didn't seem to be offended at the mocking.

*

She wondered where they were heading. But she didn't feel insecure; the even sound of the engine and the warmth of another human body pressed against hers calmed her down. She didn't dare to be given over to the feeling too much, yet she tried to memorize each inducement, from the scent of leather and fuel to the touch of House's waist under her palm.

They were speeding along a dark road, lined by a thicker and thicker forest. No headlights could be seen, only their own, illuminating a wide path before them. The air was fresh, cool and clean; she was breathing deep. She felt a few light raindrops on her lower face, not covered by her helmet.

After a curve, the trees became sparser and she saw some blue neon light on the right. When they stopped before the small wooden hut and House cut off the engine, she could also hear the tramping of the bass line of some music and the buzz of talking people. Her jaw dropped: a bar, in the middle of nowhere!

The place was surprisingly crowded, compared to its location. The interior, matching the outside, was covered with wooden paneling, walls and surfaces decorated with all kinds of sailing accessories and pictures. The bar also formed the shape of a sheer. It really felt as if being under a shipboard, in the matelots' district. She chuckled. Maybe she's ordering rum.

*

It shortly turned out that rum wasn't the only thing they're drinking that night. House was faster: he fought his way through the crowd along the bar and shouted to the – naturally – tattooed bartender for two beers and two shots of Captain Morgan.

"Doctor House... Are you sure... I mean, you're driving..."

"Don't worry, I have a certain practice..."

"But your... you're on medication, and..."

"Okay, caring intention registered. Now comes the acting part." – with this, House pushed the glass into Cameron's hand, clinked his own to it and throwing his head back, he gulped the drink at once. Cameron only hesitated for a second before following his example. Her eyes filled with tears and she gasped for air for a few moments, but after all, it didn't feel too bad when the alcohol burnt all along her throat, chest and stomach, followed by a slightly smoky but pleasant taste. Anyway she gave up and drank a bit from her beer to soothe her gullet. When she finally opened her eyes again, the world seemed to have a much more agreeable color than before. She kindly smiled at House, whose eyes twinkled like a predator's, seeing her inhibition collapsing quickly.

"Another one?" – he asked. Cameron still had some difficulties with intonation, so she just nodded, blushing slightly at her daring.

The next drink, her mouth already welcomed as well known, and she even managed to disguise her cough for clearing her throat on purpose.

They had no chance to sit down, neither on the barstools, nor at a table. Cameron was worried her boss couldn't stand for so long, but he didn't seem to mind. They maneuvered into a corner, and they settled down with their backs comfortably against the wall. From this position, they had a perfect view of the room, and House's eagle eyes were already scanning it through and through. He was more than a head taller than his companion, who already started being slightly bored, being only able to see backs, not like him. She busied herself with stealthily observing the man's face instead.

Despite the fact that his jar was already almost empty, he seemed perfectly sober. There was no sign of heavy eyelids; instead his sparkling blue eyes seemed to glow in the semidarkness. His jaw muscles strained and loosened, and his Adam's apple appeared and disappeared over his collar. She could see this expression of deep concentration everyday while he was working on a medical problem, but this was the first time she took time to concentrate on it properly. She felt a light-headed astonishment, and she couldn't help but couldn't stop smiling. She almost started giggling. The same feeling than just after the Monster Trucks show, only a bit mysterious this time. She started losing track of the events, but for the time being, she didn't mind.

"What you're looking at?" – she finally asked shyly. House's glance shifted for a moment onto her then back, but he involuntarily had to look at her face again. The girl's huge eyes were gleaming, and he even could detect a faint blush on her cheeks. The unmistakable signs of a light intoxication – or... something he really didn't need to be there.

He wordlessly excused himself with a flick of his hand, and started back towards the bar. Cameron hurried to make way for him, but she lurched. House automatically reached a hand to catch her, and it accidentally slipped under her jacket, onto the side of her belly, just near the start of the curve of her slender hip, touching nothing but bare, silky skin. His heart made a backflip due to the electric shot he suddenly felt, and his dizzy head instinctively bowed over her. His eyes shut when his lips brushed over fragrant strands, just for a half a second, then the moment was over, as if it never had had happened. Allison chuckled, now definitely blushing, and didn't seem to notice anything of his passing weakness.

When he finally made it to the bar, he quickly swallowed two further shots, already being under the impression that he needed them for clearing his head. He was holding the third one when Cameron slipped onto the now free barstool next to him. She was still wearing that smile that in House's opinion, would have had to be considered illegal in most states, at least in New Jersey for sure.

"Why you're drinking by yourself?" – she asked with the innocence of a child, still with a hint of cheekiness in her voice and eyes.

"Old habit." – House grunted, but pushed his last drink in front of her. She unhesitatingly chugged it down, then continued smiling thankfully. Oh God, where this would end.

"So, what you were looking at?" – she asked again, nosily. House made a gesture towards the other end of the bar.

"That fellow."

"What's with him?"

"Nothing special. He's cheating."

Cameron's eyes widened.

"How do you know?!"

"He keeps rubbing his third finger. He can behave completely easy, but he can't hide that his skin is missing the feeling of the ring. And that one..." – he pointed to a very slim, yet beautiful girl with his jaw – "...is trying to self-destruct."

"Why would she do that?"

"She's dying."

Cameron's face frowned.

"How..."

"Look at her more carefully."

Now she saw: the dark marks of death, on her cheek, neck and hand, unavailingly trying to be hidden under a thick layer of makeup.

"HIV..." – she whispered. House nodded.

"It's a strange feeling." – he suddenly felt an urge to confess a tiny bit of what on his heart was – "As if you were an outsider, ordered to notice everything on people, even though you don't give a damn about them. But _you_, on the other hand..."

The scanning look turned onto her again, intruding straight into her. She shivered.

"...you seem to be particularly touched. Again..."

Cameron was nervously peeling on the label of her beer bottle. Her ease was gone now; an icy dread took over her again.

"You always react particularly sensitively to a situation of death."

"Well, it's not the most cheerful thing on Earth; what do you expect?" – she tried to defend herself.

"No, this is something more. As if each death case would be your personal issue..."

"I do my job well. Let me keep the right to feel whatever I want, as long as it doesn't affect my work."

"I don't care about what you feel. I know the _what_, it's the _why_ I wanna know."

Cameron defiantly pressed her lips hard together. House went on.

"Moreover... it seems like the younger the person in question is... the worse you feel..."

Cameron's hands strained on the bottle so hard that her knuckles went white.

"Anyone who's that awkward either has no experience around death or too much, and I'm pretty sure it's not the former."

Cameron still didn't react.

"Did you lose someone? Did you lose a baby?"

The bar wasn't that crowded anymore, so the sharp sound of Cameron's chair pushed back could be heard clearly. House could see the thin golden rings of fire around her pupils (on a lake of blue-green-gray) flare in anger, and, well, maybe even loathing. Her voice was restrained, still full of disgust.

"You can be a real _bastard_."

House also slipped down from his high stool, and was now balancing on one leg, trying to unhook his cane from the edge of the bar. But Cameron already stood with her purse in her hand, throwing a banknote onto the bar.

"Don't trouble. I'll call a cab."

"We're at the... END OF THE WORLD!" – the last words he had to shout after her, as she was already in the doorway. The damn cane finally gave way, so he could take a step towards the door. But he stopped. Gregory House doesn't run after any chicks.

He climbed back onto the seat with difficulty and raised his hand for another drink.


	5. It's Beginning To Get To Me

**Chapter 5**  
It's Beginning To Get To Me

"_I know more of the stars and sea_  
_Than I do of what's in your head"__  
____

The standard, plain white hospital mug with a single red PPTH logo was making just a tiny sound while slipping back and forth on the polished surface. House, the one tossing it on a short path on the countertop, was looking at it thoughtfully. He just had guesses about why he had taken it out of the cupboard. His own red mug was already steaming next to the coffee machine, and now he was hesitating with the pitcher in one hand, staring at the other one. She doesn't even have her own mug here yet...

That morning was one of the very few occasions that he was in that early. To be honest, he had been there since the previous, Sunday night.

He couldn't stand the four walls of his apartment closing on him anymore, with nothing but a bottle of Scotch and his faithful Vicodin for company. He had grabbed his cane, stormed out the front door and hadn't stopped until his second home, his office. Of course the Scotch had come with him, and it slowly had gotten used up during the next hours while he had been staring at a twelve years old file. Will he ever solve this mysterious case? Doesn't really matter: it always stood him in good stead when he needed a perfect and complete distraction from any other thoughts.

Hell, this doesn't make any sense. He had achieved what he had wanted – though he kind of had forgotten about his original intention somewhere during Friday night. Of course the thought had kept crossing his mind from time to time, but he always had had better things to concentrate on. And still he had managed to keep to the plan: hurt her, offend her, push her away as much as possible, so that he never has to see that gleam in her eyes anymore; that admiration and curious idolatry.

Don't let the world turn upside down: he is the one solving puzzles; he mustn't become a puzzle himself. He is the one analyzing people, never the one to be analyzed. And most of all: he is an irrevocably broken, downhearted old man, who can gain, at most, frightened or pitiful looks from young gals.

Still, those eyes... That deep pain in them; and anger and – hatred... Did he really want to be _hated _by her...? Those eyes, which can be so tender and open, not afraid to be windows to her soul... at least as it seems. There must be a dark room somewhere behind. Those eyes... their color indefinable, as it changes with her mood like a precious mineral. Another thing to be added to the to-be-banned list.

For God's sake, he hadn't had sentimental thoughts like this for ages. Must be the slight hangover. It'll go away soon.

He kept tossing the mug closer and closer to the edge, until it, as in slow motion, tipped over and with a louder noise than he expected, fell into thousand pieces.

He was staring at the wrecks for a few more seconds, but then slowly lowered his hand, forgotten in the air, and turned his head away. Why would he mind? Just a damn object. Not that it would be worth more if it had arms, legs, heart and a brain always complicating things and creating lies.

Almost immediately after the unworthy end of the poor tableware, he heard the clicking of a pair of heels, and delicate hands begun gathering the pieces. He couldn't hide being a bit startled by the sudden appearance of his fellow worker, and simply was unable to stand her closeness, so unprepared. He started off towards his office, his cane thumping harder than usual. However, in the midway, something rushed into his mind and made him turn back and say in an unusually low voice:

"Don't cut yourself if it works."

The answer came in a barely audible, still stable voice.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

His heart jumped in an extra beat, almost like at _that _moment, back in the bar. He swallowed hard but felt the anger rise inside him quickly about himself being far more concerned than he intended to.

"If there will be any blood on my carpet ever, I want it to be mine." – Why did he say this stupidity? This sentence doesn't even make any sense.

"...Cos it's _my _carpet, you see." – he tried, but he knew he was late, as he could notice a ghost of a smile on her face. He felt more and more uncomfortable. Can she do the impossible, and be able to see through him after such a short time, which others hadn't managed to, in decades?

This was the moment the two boys (well, they are _men _in fact, but still _boys _in his eyes) chose to enter the diagnostics room. House almost sighed in relief. Hell, this has to end. He raised his voice.

"And you know what else is mine? This marker and this nice, snow-white board. The latter though won't stay this blank for long. We have a new case."

_-H-M-D-_

"We can't do this!"

The three ducklings were rushing through the corridors, one heading towards the patient, two towards the lab. But not all of them could bring themselves to obey to House's order.

"We'll kill him!"

"No we won't. We have no time to keep thinking; this may be his only chance."

"Cameron, try to think anyway! House..."

"He knows what he's doing."

"And what if he doesn't? We know him for a bit longer than you..."

"Yeah, he looked like crap and stank from whiskey. Okay, he hadn't killed anybody because of his bad mood yet... at least not proven... but what if...?"

"Don't do this, Cameron. You know this is just insane!"

"His insane ideas are usually right." – Cameron finally answered – "What?" – she snapped when Chase and Foreman shared a tell-tale glance.

"Well..." – the Australian begun carefully – "...you rather used to contradict him."

"Yes, _Robert_, I used to try to stop him from torturing people just for making things simpler. But I won't contradict him only because I don't see what he might does."

"Whoa, this is impressive. You're an atheist, but you unconditionally believe in House."

Cameron just shrugged.

"You didn't seem a lost person in the first times... That's how you can be here now... neither scared, nor stunned by him... until..."

"Until _what_?" – Cameron gave the blond guy a sharp gaze.

"Well, you know what I'm talking about..." – he started to grin shyly – "Your _date_."

Cameron suddenly hated her capillaries for painting her cheeks deep rose.

"It wasn't a _date_, I've already told you."

"C'mon, you know exactly that we're craving for details!"

"Not me!" – Foreman raised his hands in defense.

"It was nothing like a date! I was the first person he ran into, he just... asked me. Don't blow it up."

"That's one thing... But looking at you today, something _has _to have happened..."

"Nothing happened." – Cameron answered a bit too quickly – "He's a _jerk_. There can't be anything romantic in question concerning him."

Chase was already opening his mouth to protest, but just that moment, their pagers went off. Foreman was the first to read it.

"Time to finish, _George and Meredith_. Our patient is coding."

_-H-M-D-_

A few hours and not quite a few cups of coffee later, the team was half sitting, half lounging in the diagnostics room. Chase tried to distract himself with a large crossword, chewing the end of his pen, Foreman was writing an article about the genetic background of MS, Cameron was hectically turning the pages in a huge medical encyclopedia, and House seemed to have gone home or wherever he used to disappear from the hospital as soon as he could. The rest of the diagnostics department was waiting for any news about their patient's state.

"What you're mousing so hard in that book?" – Foreman teased – "I thought you absolutely trusted House's diagnosis..."

Cameron just had time to give him a reproachful look, before the door of the dark office next to them opened and the doctor in question appeared, leaning on his cane.

"Cameron," – he called sharply – "in my office."

There was a moment of dumbfounded silence, before House rolled his eyes crossly.

"C'mon, don't do those scared puppy eyes. I'm not gonna sweep everything off my desk and hop you on." – he paused – "...Though I imagine you regret it."

Chase almost choked on his pen from restrained laughing and Cameron's face burned up. Foreman just shook his head reprovingly. Cameron quickly sneaked through the door under her boss' arm, completely discomposed, and turned on the awful standing lamp. She looked around, and House's iPod on his desk gave away what he spent the last hours with.

She turned around to the sound of the closing door. She raised her eyes to House, her heart in her throat. He returned her glance, thoughtfully, and leaned against the desk.

"You defended my point." – it wasn't a question. Cameron didn't speak.

"Chase and Foreman would have vetoed my proposal if there hadn't been someone to manipulate them." – He spoke suggestively. – "And from what I know until now, that someone had to be you. The power of weakness..."

"What if I did?" – Cameron almost whispered.

"I hurt you. I was rude and abrasive. Still you sided with me."

House was staring at his colleague from under his brow, his head slightly bowed. Cameron stood his gaze. The air seemed to burn between them.

"Either you're a very professional doctor and you don't let your emotions affect your decisions, or..."

Cameron kept swallowing hard and did her best not to shiver.

"You like me." – Her eyelids batted to House's bold statement. – "Why?"

She protectively folded her arms over her chest.

"That's kind of a sad question!" – even she was stunned herself that her voice wasn't trembling at all. House broke the eye contact and shrugged.

"Just trying to figure out what makes you tick. I am not warm and fuzzy and you are basically a stuffed animal made by grandma."

Cameron mentally scolded herself for feeling a second of warmth around her heart at this not-at-all compliment. This is the moment she really can't allow herself any sappiness.

"Why are you asking? What do you wanna hear?"

When she got no answer, she lowered her arms and closed the distance between them. Their gazes connected again.

Of course she liked him. She wasn't sure when she became fully aware of this fact; the only thing she knew was that House knew it before her. He really _is _the best diagnostician.

"I don't wanna hear a compliment. I wanna dissuade you."

_Like hell he wanted. But he had to._

He lifted his hands and cupped the girl's face. His palms almost entirely covered her cheeks. He stared into the huge eyes between his thumbs, as if hypnotizing her.

"I'm not Prince Charming. Not even close. Everything I touch is meant to fall apart."

Cameron almost heard the unspoken thoughts shouting. _Tell me you can change this. Save me._

"I'm still in one piece, you see." – she breathed.

House bowed his head so much that their noses almost touched. He was already whispering, putting a heavy accent on each word.

"Bad...idea."

They were standing there, eyes locked, their breathing synchronized, for what felt like ages. Finally Cameron managed to break the spell and she blinked. She didn't dare to touch her boss, but she took a step backward, gently slipping out of the touch. She straightened up and was looking at him with wide, honest eyes.

"The answer you wanna know is not the reason I like you. You had to ask yourself first, why _you _like _me _and what you really want."

With this, she turned around and silently left the office, towards the corridor.


	6. You Could Be Happy

Hhey folks, I'm really sorry it took so long to update (in case anyone cares :P) - the truth is I had to entirely rewrite this chapter, because... well... let's be honest: I sc***ed it up :-S I wanted to write Chapter 7 so much (yeah, no point of denying, that's me :))) ) that I just tossed the sixth one off in two hours :(( Fortunately you didn't have to see that version - this here is a completely different one.  
If you're keen enough, you already guessed that Chapter 7 is also ready... yeah... wanna see it? Please review!!! xD (I know I'm evil!!!!! :P)  
Anyway, enjoy! And of course thanks again for the wonderful reviews, favs & subscriptions! They mean so much to me... YOU're the ones I do this for! :)

* * *

**Chapter 6**  
You Could Be Happy

"_I should have stopped you_  
_from walking out the door"  
_______________________________

"What the _hell_ was that?!"

She mumbled the words out loud. No risks, nobody would have heard her over the pouring of the shower; even if the locker room hadn't been abandoned on that late (or already early?) hour.

She gave over to the stream of water, hoping it would clear not only her body, but her hectic thoughts too. Not to mention the chaotic mass of mixed emotions inside her. She hadn't been this overwhelmed with completely different feelings since college. This was not good, not at all. She had given up being a silly teenager long ago, and now she's being like a girl with a crush again. _Act your age, Allison!_ she scolded herself quietly. _This won't lead you anywhere. _...Or what's worse, it will; and she knows the end of that road too well, when listening to her naïve heart instead of rationality...

She finally brought herself to step out the shower, dressed up and made her way towards the pediatric oncology, to check on one of her favorite patients (probably sleeping), hoping her fellow workers would page her if they got any news.

*

He stretched his tired features, moved his neck a bit too, and started rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. A damn hard day, he was having. In fact, a damn hard _job_ he had got, still he couldn't imagine anything else for himself. Yet after all those years of practice, he still needed some time alone every time he had to look into another human being's eyes and tell him he was going to die, like some bizarre angel of death. This awkward part of his work (just like, of course, the rest of what he had to experience from day to day) had changed him for sure: the ever-smiling, a little wacky college boy had quickly turned into a much more serious adult man – yet he managed to keep his smile and what is more important: he was able to close his office door on this part of his life.

Done with the stretching, he let the breath out he was holding and glanced to the clock. Would be time to go home. The only problem was that he would rather have stayed with the paperwork than facing an empty apartment again. Julie was staying with a friend since last week. There had been no loud quarrel, no theatric annunciation; but they both had known what it meant, pretending to be asleep when the other had arrived home, for long months now. Wilson didn't accuse her: he knew he screwed up. For the third time, for God's sake. He couldn't bring himself to let House know about it yet – unfortunately, he exactly knew what to expect. But it's only a matter of time until he figures out, that's for sure. He always does. Except that this time, it takes unusually long, as if he had other things on his mind aside from him. He was ashamed, but couldn't help feeling a bit offended, maybe even jealous. House getting a life of his own? Unlikely.

A shadow blocked the corridor light in his open doorway. He looked up and couldn't stop the corners of his mouth curl up in a happy grin. This woman's presence is always like a flurry of spring breeze. House is a lucky bastard, having her around everyday. Though this delight is probably going to waste, as even the wind of a jet engine would be too weak for him to notice, concerning chaste female allurement. On the other hand, if she wore some low-rider jeans instead of her modest working outfit...

The light came from behind her back and he only had his desk lamp on, so her features mostly remained covered in darkness. But he still could tell she was smiling, as always, leaning shyly against the doorframe and almost soundlessly knocking on the open door. He waved her in.

"Hey what's new?" he asked as she started slowly mincing around the room.

"Nothing" – She was now fiddling with the knickknacks of his desk. – "I saw the light on."

"From...?" – Wilson nodded towards the glass balcony door and the dark grounds of the diagnostics department behind. House seemed to be gone, and the two guys probably had found something to make themselves useful. They hadn't paged her, so it's probably nothing concerning their patient, she thought. She blushed.

"Honestly, no." – she stopped, then continued in a low, fake light voice. – "Been to see Andy."

Wilson leaned back in his chair and observed her from under thick eyebrows. She had finally found some small toy to play with and huddled herself up in the corner of his couch, avoiding his glance.

"Again?" – he asked gently – "Allison, is it..."

"No, it's okay." – she quickly interrupted him – "I've already told you it's basically a good feeling... being with..."

Her eyes however contradicted her words: they filled with tears, which she quickly blinked away. Wilson leaned forward, reached in one of his drawers and placed a small bowl with some colorful candies onto the corner of his desk nearest to her. Lucky that he managed to save some from his gluttonous friend.

She let out a small laugh and reached for a candy. Her heart already felt much lighter; a reason she had fancied the oncologist's company from the very beginning. Sometimes she desired some honest niceness too, tired of the always teasing ambiance of House's team.

*

He took his cane out of the custom holder on the side of the bike, then instantly clicked it back in. He was getting clearly annoyed now, about his own stupidity. It's now minutes that he was hesitating, one foot on the concrete, other still on the footrest. No matter how awkward he's feeling – he has to get the answer.

About a minute later, he was lifting his cane, ready to knock the handle against the door, but it opened before he even could have touched it. Cameron looked at him, calm, with just a hint of confusedness at his unexpected appearance.

"Dr. House." – She stayed in the gap of the doorway, blocking the entrance, for the time being.

"Alright I give up. What's it?"

Cameron raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't know we were playing a guessing game."

House knew this wouldn't get them anywhere. He nervously tapped on the floor with his cane.

Cameron took pity on him, released the door and stepped back into her apartment. House stood in the doorframe for just a moment longer, then curtly nodded and followed her.

She didn't really know how to behave in a basically normal situation with someone who is as far from _normal_ as possible. Anyway, she tried to act nonchalantly; despite the knot her insides were forming since she had heard the now familiar roaring of the bike.

"Coffee? Tea?"

"Truth."

Her eyes flickered to him and she knew she had lost, because the dangerous cutting glance caught her again.

"And what makes you think I would give it to you, of all people?"

"That you want to tell me. Of all people."

"Please don't try to manipulate so lamely. It's not gonna work."

"I'm not. I seriously think so. But you have know I kinda used to skip this part and get to the point."

She stared at him with a half-smile, not being sure whether to take him serious. He feels awkward, so he tries to make her lose her bearings; like he had answered with an indoctrinatory monologue about why it was a bad idea for her to pick up with him, when she had accidentally referred to the possible case of neurosyphilis with the ambiguous words »What about sex?«. I hadn't worked then; it worked now.

"So what have I trodden into again, insensitive as I am?"

Cameron took in a long breath, then slowly lowered herself onto her creamy white sofa. She began rubbing her thighs with both hands, her rather curious eyes on House. She had no clue what to expect from this whole situation to turn into, and she let her thoughts form words.

"Not exactly the way I expected my evening... being interrogated for emotional confessions by _you_..."

"Hey if you even try anything like that, I'm outta here!" – House made a half turn towards the door, in defense. Just now he saw the absurdity of the whole situation. Him, standing clumsily in the middle of Cameron's living room, her sitting in front of him with wide questioning eyes – and him not having a clue what he could or wanted to say.

"Fifty bucks." – he spat out before having the chance to reconsider.

Cameron's eyes widened even more. She began being completely puzzled.

"What?!"

House knew there was no way back.

"Fifty bucks you're not telling me. Or you're gonna lie, of course." – he added with the impulse of a kamikaze pilot. This is gonna be very loud and he'll wind up either with a one-sided flush on his face or bent double in pain, hands squeezed on his groin. She had already showed some foretaste of her ability to turn from angel to furious amazon in a second. Not much, but he saw possibilities in her...

"You wanna _buy_ my secrets for fifty dollars?!" – Cameron gasped, but to her surprise, she rather felt somewhat relieved, even amused, just the slightest. The light ambiance of their bets in the diagnostics department had replaced the usual cold dread and emptiness that had used to overtake her when being close to the issue House is trying so hard now to reveal.

"Nooo" – House protested with a fake indignation. – "A fair trade."

They were staring at each other for some long seconds, somewhat challenging, a hint of amusement in the eyes, both waiting for the other to back down.

Cameron involuntarily folded her arms over her chest. The gesture threw House off balance. He broke the eye contact, shook his head and reached into his pocket for his Vicodin. Throwing his head back, he swallowed one, then his gaze perplexedly flickered back onto his co-worker for a second.

"Forget it." – he muttered. What was he thinking, anyway?

He nodded again and reached for the doorknob.

"When I was at college..."

He turned around, surprised. Cameron was now standing in front of him, arms still folded in defense, but her eyes open and honest. The straight gaze seemed to tie House's features and hold him at his place. He had no choice but to listen.

"I... fell in love, and..." – her voice was so low now that House had to concentrate hard to get her words. - "...I got married. And..."

He cut in carefully, almost in a consoling tone.

"At that age, the chances of a marriage lasting..."

But Cameron didn't let him finish the sentence.

"It lasted six months. Thyroid cancer metastasized his brain. There was nothing they could do." – She stopped but didn't cry like he expected. Her eyes suspiciously shone up, but she swallowed and went on. – "I was 21 and I watched my husband die."

She said it so simply, not over-dramatizing it at all. This made the situation even more staggering.

"You're really trying hard to get that fifty, don't you?" – he said, just to break the heavy silence. All he got was a shaky laugh.

But something was still bothering him.

"I'm sorry." – He was. He spoke low and slowly, eyes never leaving hers, carefully choosing his words, not to make even more damage. – "But that's not the whole story. It's a symptom, not your illness. Thyroid cancer would have been diagnosed at least a year before his death. You _knew_ he was dying when you married him. Must have been when you first met him. And you married him anyway." – The connection between their eyes seemed to form an incandescent wire in the air. – "You can't be that good a person and well adjusted."

"Why?"

House didn't instantly answer, and she profited from the silence to try and twist things back at him a bit. She won't show her heart without getting even a bit of openness in return.

"Because I wind up hating people?..."

_Touché_. He couldn't help anymore; he felt an almost painful shot of emotion. This girl always tended to close up the more he pushed her. And now she unclenched and dared to trust him – this braveness he simply had to admire. His heart filled up with tenderness, pity and the long-forgotten feeling of the desire of comforting. For the first time in his life, this all overtook him, and he hardly knew what was happening as with two quick, limping but determined steps, he closed the distance between them.

"Someone said this wasn't a good idea" – Cameron whispered gently – "I didn't do anything..."

"I know"


	7. Make This Go On Forever

...before you ask why the story is rated M :P  
**Hey kiddo!** Yes, you! You can read this chapter if you want to... but you better know... Boogie Man is waiting for you between the lines, and he knows you're underage!!!!! What? You decided to rather skip this one? Okay... I can tell you, you don't miss anything. Uncle Greg and Aunt Allison are just discussing how much they enjoy each other's company. Rather boring. Jump to the next chapter (when I've uploaded it :S).

* * *

**Chapter 7**  
Make This Go On Forever

"_First kiss and the first time  
that I felt connected to anything"__  
_________________________________

Cameron always had fought hard battles with her alarm clock, that's why she used to set it to a good hour earlier than the latest moment to get up to get ready without a rush.

However that morning, her eyes sprang open before the grating sound would have begun tearing her dreams apart.

She was afloat between sleep and wake for a second, before her lips curled into a happy smile.

The feeling that brought this reaction was the weight of an arm, loosely thrown around her waist – a feeling she had been missing for so long.

She carefully stretched her stiff muscles, without moving too much. She wanted to turn around and see her sleep-mate so badly, but she dared not. She knew she had to feel terrible, but she simply couldn't. _I slept with my boss_ – she mouthed. This sentence sounded so serious. _I slept with him though I hardly know a thing about him._ But this didn't help any: her conscience still refused to wake up and protest.

She tried to keep her breathing even, but couldn't soothe her racing heart. Moreover she had a constant urge to laugh out loud.

Her eyes wandered down her body, until her gaze reached House's hand, near her stomach. He wasn't touching her (just his wrist) – either he hadn't at all, or it was just the slumber that had loosened his features; it didn't matter, it was _there_.

She held her breath and slowly moved her hand. But she lost bravery halfway and giggled into her pillow. What would she say to him when both of them would be awake?

Or, what is so much more important, what would _he_ say?

Her face frowned for just a half a second, then her smile shone up again. She still had that firm belief that came last evening, at the very first touch of him on her bare shoulder. From that moment on, each of her heartbeats had kept telling her: _Trusthim... Trusthim... Trusthim..._ And she did so.

_She knows she can. His hands tell her as they, gently but firmly, cup her face like they did before. And his lips confirm it as they hungrily crush to her mouth a second later. Their first kiss is nothing like she imagined: it is possessive and exigent, because there is nothing they need more than to touch, feel, explore each other, and finally release that incredible tension that has been torturing them for months._

She closed her eyes at the memories, which suddenly started rising from the corners of the bedroom (still holding the echoes of heavy sighs and half shouted, half moaned confessions), the folds of the wrinkled blanket and their yesterday clothes, unceremoniously thrown all over the floor.

_At long last, he is there, holding her against his chest, kissing her as if his life depended on it. Still she is not frightened by his passion at all, as she can feel his palm caressing her hair; a gesture she hardly could imagine of him before._

_After the first shock, her hands also find their way to his face and neck, her fingers unconsciously starting to discover his skin, reading him, trembling in the electricity of the first touch. She obeys him as he pulls her onto the sofa and over himself, and now she is straddling his lap, knees on either side of him, so that she puts no weight on his damaged thigh at all. His hands now have a free access: he runs them under her tank top and touches her back, sending shivers down her spine. She is already at the edge of losing control, just from this, her lips trembling from desire; and she gathers all her self-control to pull herself together, not to seem a high school girl on her prom night._

_His touch is so different now than the night before, in his office. Then, he held her face in his hands like calming a child, convincing her not to do anything silly. Of course, after a few seconds of physical contact, she felt his palms heating up and starting sweating slightly; and she saw the flames flare up in his eyes. But now, it's unmistakable, pure lust and desire in each and every moment his fingertips burn her skin; and also as he squeezes her thighs and pulls her somewhat closer, so that she can feel him better through the layers of her sweatpants and his jeans. He pulls her even higher and, pushing her top up, starts kissing her stomach, his stubble leaving faint red marks on her skin. She feels her face flush too from the inner heat, as she is gasping for air at the intense sensation._

_He opens his eyes as he pulls her top over her head, scanning her and even making her a bit uncomfortable; but just until she meets his hazy and slightly confused gaze. She can see desire and vulnerability in his eyes, all at once, and yet a dozen of other feelings that she doesn't even dare put into words. She leans over him again, their tongues instantly finding each other in a deep kiss. She moans as he starts to loosen the hem of her pants, but before the undressing contest would get unequal, she pulls herself together and slips her legs off the sofa, onto the carpet and urgently grabs his collar on both sides, pulling him up, never stopping kissing him. She doesn't expect him for a second to carry her into the bedroom, she backs towards it instead, lips still stuck to his, and she rather snuggles to him, because she feels a bit uncomfortable from being half-naked. But her skin screams for contact with his, so she almost tears his shirt off, until it helplessly falls on the floor somewhere in the bedroom door, and their chests finally are pressed tight together, causing such a joy for both of them that she already starts using her nails when stroking his back, and he is nibbling on her neck and shoulders so hard that it almost hurts._

_They collapse onto the bed; he wraps her waistband string around his hand and she is also working on undoing his belt. Yet, his hands politely stop every time they reach a point on her lower belly or while caressing her inner thighs. She sighs in relief that he doesn't pretend having the right to immediately put his hands wherever he likes, as the most natural thing on Earth, and she automatically thrusts her hip into his touch, allowing him to discover more of her body. He doesn't hesitate and she throws her head back in joy._

She glanced on the LED of the alarm clock and sighed in discontent. But no matter what, they have to go to work.

Holding her breath, she slipped off the bed, briefly caressing the sleeping man with her look, then, still naked, she leaped into the bathroom with two feather-light steps.

Her skin and strained muscles welcomed the hot stream of the shower, but she really couldn't allow herself to stay there for too long, especially as she still had to try and pull House out of bed. To be honest, she would have preferred the opposite of this action, but if things go well, they would still have numberless of chances for that.

While drying herself with the towel, she already could hear some fumbling from the other side of the door. She grinned happily as she involuntarily started wondering if she could expect some coffee when she walks out. Her smile though froze on her face when she heard the unmistakable clicking of her closing front door.

*

He hadn't really needed an alarm clock to wake up; he had his inner device for that purpose. The problem with that was just that he couldn't switch it off on weekends either.

That morning wasn't an exception either, so his day started with wincing and rubbing his thigh again; cursing everything and everyone that might have anything to do with the invention of nerves and pain. True, nerve endings had caused him a quite agreeable time during most of the night, still his leg wasn't used to exercises like that and was now killing him in revenge. He struggled to the edge of the bed, until he could find his pants in the still dimly lit room, on the floor, and took his Vicodin out of his pocket. When he took his cut, he fell back onto the pillow (_her_ pillow), relieved, and while waiting for the medication to kick in, he observed the ceiling as if it was a particularly evil enemy of mankind. He felt miserable, mentally and physically. His head was throbbing, even though he couldn't remember drinking anything last night.

He turned his head and his gaze fell on the woman, sound asleep next to him. Of course. _Her_. Worse than any drugs. She made him dizzy and lose his mind and wanting more and more of her. He could smell her, feel the heat radiating from her body and he still could taste her on his lips.

He lifted himself onto one elbow and looked down at her. _Gosh_. Like in the lamest Hallmark movie. Long eyelashes shadowing her cheeks, her face resting on the back of her hand, like a goddamned kid's. Dark strands of hair spread over her shoulder and ear, and the blanket slid off her so that is was hardly even covering her hip. He had to swallow a few times before he raised his hand an brought it over her shoulder, then following the curve of her ribcage, waist and hip with it, sensing her skin's warmth, but never actually touching her. Greg House won't caress anybody in her sleep.

He angrily threw himself onto his back again (getting even more annoyed by the fact that he involuntarily checked whether he had scared her up with that) and shut his eyes tight, and also pressed the heel of his hands onto them, until white spots started dancing behind his eyelids. But he couldn't fight the flashbacks from last night intruding into his mind and stirring his senses up again.

_He is forgetting about everything that once mattered to him, his principles and barriers set up for himself – all he can see and feel and smell is her and all he can think about is that he wants to show this godforsaken world that hurting someone who is innocence and goodness itself is the greatest sin that could ever be committed; and suddenly he wants to lift her up and close her into his arms and kiss her and love her and make her forget about all the wickedness and pain in the world._

_So he strides to her and captures her mouth with his. He kisses her even more when he feels her delicate hands on the back of his neck, arousing each of his senses. He turns the two of them around and backs until he feels the edge of the sofa in the crook of his legs, then sits down (his breath stopping for a second from pain shooting into his bad thigh, but he ignores it) and pulls her onto himself, trying to touch as much of her body at once as possible. He wants to feel more and more of her, and he pulls her top up to taste the mild skin on her stomach. She tastes like peach and vanilla and he is kissing her from her belly button to her sides and back, feeling her muscles tense under his touch and this makes him smug. His hands are tired from holding her top, so he simply pulls it over her head and throws it behind them. At this point, he has to open his eyes and see. His gaze captures as much of her beauty as possible and he smoothes the red marks on her skin with his fingertips and then with his tongue._

_She blocks his eyesight by kissing him deeply; and his hands wander over and then under her sweatpants, feeling nothing else than firm skin and muscles; and she is so close, so damn close, her weight pressing into his lap, and he feels he can't bear his jeans on for any moments more – he wants to be on her and inside her and make her scream and call out his name, her nails digging into his shoulders._

_He feels her urging him up and away, so he struggles himself onto his feet and obeys her. They somehow make it to the bedroom door where she pulls his shirt off and starts gently scratching his back. He is just kissing her neck, but at this sensation, he instinctively bites down onto her shoulder and groans in satisfaction. He pushes her onto the bed and bites her even more: on her hipbone (she lets out a cry, finally), on her neck (pushing his groin to hers), then very gently on one of her nipples. She tosses and tumbles and she is trying hard to get rid off his jeans. He caresses her everywhere – well, almost everywhere, as he is enjoying her being a wildcat so much and he doesn't want to do anything that distracts her and makes her any uncomfortable. But she is almost pleading for him to touch her, so he obeys her again. She is gasping, her head thrown back and he straightaway has to think of baseball, or else he will lose it right there and then. He is aroused so much that it hurts. Because this time, it's not only his body – he can get the feeling any time if he pays enough for it –, but his whole self, each of his senses wanting nothing more than her in every possible way._

_He would be worried of being so passionate with this fragile body of hers, but fortunately she doesn't seem that sensitive. She overpowers him (surprisingly strong) and pins his hands onto the bed, above his head. She is kissing his chest and stomach, not even missing the tiny bites that drive him crazy for good. She is nestled against him in nothing than her panties and he really can't wait for any longer. He breaks off her clasp and a second later there is nothing between them and she lets him in and he really tries to warn her with a dim "NO!", but it's too late and the moment she tightens around him just the slightest, the world collapses with him. He hardly can mutter a regretful "Sorry" when he already feels he wants more. But nature being nature, despite of anything, he presses his mouth to the inner side of her knee for the time being, then he is leaving a wet path on both of her thighs and her belly before he reaches his destination and (hopefully) shows her a bit of heaven. He kisses her as he was kissing her mouth, deep and passionate and, surprising even himself, he is holding her hand and lets her fingers knot with his as she comes, so hard that she almost pulls him with her again. But he manages to hold on and without giving her any time to rest, he pushes into her again, craving to feel her hot and wet and tight, contracting around him again; and he notices with pleasure that he managed to carry on some moments longer, so with his last effort, he pushes her over the edge one last time and lets his own release come as well, this time biting down onto her shoulder so hard that she screams, but more in ecstasy than in pain; and the last thing he can see through the haze that engulfs him is that he managed to leave violent bruises on her white skin – but that doesn't matter, he has marked her, she is his from now forever; this is what is blaring in his head, while his mouth are only able to mutter incoherent fragments: mineminemineminemineminemine................................_

But now the magic was gone and he was his old self again, suffering and regretting everything. He was suffering from happiness, but this not being only a cliché: it really hurt and didn't feel any good. He remembered again who he was and that he couldn't give her anything at all. He was scolding himself so hard and he felt a terrible remorse to foul this pure beauty and making an irreversible mistake. If only he could revert this night!

So he took to his never-falling ignoring technique. If we don't talk about it, it didn't happen at all. Even if he dreaded the first moment he would have to look into her eyes again, this seemed the only way for him.

When he shut the door behind himself, he didn't even know his body couldn't have resisted the calling of hers when he had slept back a bit.


	8. Set The Fire To The Third Bar

Guess, who's back :)  
I know it wasn't nice, leaving this story "hanging in the air" for so long... now you have to re-read it from Chapter 1 :)) (I had, too...)  
Many thanks to _~Vicodin-addict117_, again and always.  
Please tell me what you think, and maybe, maybe you'll be rewarded with some longer chapters soon! ;)

* * *

**Chapter 8  
**Set The Fire To The Third Bar

"_I pray that something picks me up  
And sets me down in your warm arms…"  
_________________________________

Fascinating, how much one can change within just a few hours. Hair like a haystack, lashes lowered over red and swollen eyes, in sharp contrast with the paleness of her cheeks. His diagnose was set in a blink; _she cried_, he stated to himself without regret, just as a matter of fact; _she cried for at least forty-five minutes, or more; when could she have started? _Right after she had come out of the bathroom and faced the empty bed, the empty living room? Or…

_I was waiting for you, like an idiot. I kept telling myself you'd gone for breakfast or something. I knew it was a self-delusion. I shook, made the bed and started dressing for work. A button was missing from my blouse so I shoved the damn thing across the room. It stuck on the bookshelf and I had to go and retrieve it. I shouldn't have found the photo album beneath it, or at least I never should have opened it and start pitying myself. Feeling abandoned and betrayed for the second time and guilty at once isn't actually comforting, you know. No… you don't and never will. You've been more of a selfish coward than to allow yourself to lean on anyone. …I'm sorry I'm late. But I wasn't going to give you the joy of seeing me cop out. And despite everything, I don't want to lose my job, so I rushed in when I finally became aware of how late it was. I didn't have time to…_

_By the way, whose pullover can she be wearing, her grandpa's?! Brown, c'mon…_ And only he knew what she was hiding under that terrible turtleneck.

*

The perfectly groomed curls of the perfectly elegant lady started losing their volume, as if mimicking their owner's state of mind, as the administrator was resting her head desperately against the doorframe. Her eyes were following more and more tiredly the path of a red and gray ball, up and down, up and down. She opened her mouth several times to speak, but she couldn't find any words that wouldn't have been going to be repeated for at least the tenth time since the day this hellspawn had first stepped over the threshold. Finally she groaned exhaustedly.

"House… really. For good old times' sake, tell me honestly: do I really need to lose eight days of my expected lifetime from stress every time you had to just go down a floor or two and write a few prescriptions for running noses?"

The ball bounced one last time on the ceiling before landing between long fingers. House took his time to turn his seat to face the door and to spectacularly eye his boss up and down.

"Uh-oh. If I get the signals right, your lips refer to the fact that you might be aging. While other body parts say…" – Cuddy didn't even cross her arms in defense anymore. – "Or who knows? Lingerie industry has come up with incredible stuff lately, and my… first-hand experience is rather outdated."

"House, that's low."

"Why? You started getting all nostalgic about good ol' times."

"Right. You're so right. In everything. Just please do something against the rebel down there." – She raised a hand just in time to stop a suddenly very spry House from a way too intimate innuendo. – "Not interested. Patients already start prying the seats up on the clinic. Nurses have escaped."

"Now _that_ I can't miss!" House smirked and stood up to follow the leaving woman. But something made him stop (and left him resting his eyes idly on Cuddy's swaying backside for a moment). He heard the diagnostics room door open and a second later, his eyes caught movement behind the closed blinds separating the two rooms. He took a careful step towards the covered glass wall and peaked through a gap.

Cameron was attempting to remain invisible and inaudible while approaching her desk. She really wasn't ready for a private encounter yet. To her misfortune, she didn't know about House's aroused playfulness in the other room, resulted by the entertaining banter with Cuddy.

He tiptoed to the door between the two rooms like a ninja (_a partially disabled ninja_, he thought bitterly), and couldn't resist the girl's carefully measured movements recalling the sight of a hunted game. He waited for his prey to come close enough, then with a flick of his wrist, he turned the blinds open.

Cameron presented an exquisite jump – to his greatest satisfaction –, then faced him, eyes dark from indignation.

"You're not funny, House! You nearly gave me a…"

House smirked and pointed at his ear, mouthing a fake "I-can't-hear-you!".

"House, the walls are not soundproof. I figured it out long ago; I used to have to listen to you sing along with your iPod when you think you're alone."

Was that an actual smile House's childish smirk had turned into? Impossible to tell; the plastic bars of the blinds divide his features into odd stripes.

_She is being cheeky._ She's not afraid of him; she doesn't feel awkward around him. She doesn't do that pathetic it's-all-my-fault martyrness either that he'd expected from her. She is angry, and daring. She managed to surprise him. Again.

He stared into her face, so open and honest now with her hair now tied back tightly. Annoyed and blaming for the moment; but just how many other feelings it could show in the future… for him…

The emotion caught him off guard. It was sudden, intense and alien. At that moment, eyes locked with her beautiful orbs, he made the decision.

He must get away while he still can.

He spun on his heels and stormed out through the door to the hallway, limping heavier than usual. Cameron helplessly let her hands fall from her hips while watching him disappear.

*

"…And I was worried _his_ heart would be broken! I can't believe I'm still that naïve. Please forget I ever said such thing."

"James…"

"No!" – He grabbed his decaf frappe but let go of it immediately to gesticulate with both hands. – "He… you…"

"I…" – Cameron laid her palm on the table in front of him, a soothing motion just a bit less personal than touching his arm. – "…will live. Please stop thinking of me as a schoolgirl. Maybe nobody believes it but I do have a backbone. Pride. You know what? Ego, even."

Wilson managed to tear his gaze away from her hand, and rubbed his face as if getting rid of a cobweb. He peaked at her with the hint of a bitter smile in the corner of his mouth.

"You're incredible. 'You know that?"

She smirked and sipped the last drops of cold coffee using her straw. During the few seconds of silence, she kept throwing odd glances at him, then back at her glass, looking more and more amused.

"What?" – Wilson started stirring in his chair.

"You…" – she chuckled – "you… really don't have to do this."

"Do what?"

"Being all supportive. If you saw yourself… those empathetic puppy eyes…"

"I do _not_ have puppy eyes! When will women finally give up telling me that?!"

This time she laughed out loud, but when she saw the slight hurt on her companion's face, she reorganized her features and said warmly:

"Do you know what you could do if you really want to make me feel better?"

Seeing the silent question in his eyes, she continued:

"We really shouldn't be sitting in an almost empty hospital cafeteria after work hours. Take me to a bar, James!"

*

_The lights are dancing so strangely on the glasses hung above the bar. The music and voices create a hypnotizing buzz; and there are so many, so many colors… beautiful…_

"You left your mouth open." – Wilson warned her – "You okay?"

She blinked and the music sounded clear again, and most of the colors had disappeared. Too bad.

"Er, what? Yeah! Sure. I'm uh…"

Yeah, she was okay. No uncomfortable dizziness and no tension in her stomach anymore. The only problem was that she kind of missed the latter. It somehow had helped her keep her back straight. Now her strength seemed to have gone with it.

"You've been all silent."

"I'm alright, Wilson; I just somehow…" – Wilson let out a laugh. – "What?!"

"Where have you left your consonants, Allie???"

"Doe…doesn't matter." – Nevertheless, she tried to get the control over her own tongue back. She pronounced each word focusing hard on clear articulation.

"James, I lied." – She rested for a second. Speaking clearly is exhausting. Why hadn't she ever noticed that before?

"I was… I'm… You're right. I do not have… now I confess to you and only you… don't you ever tell anyone, but… I do not have ego. I just need…"

_A safe and warm corner. Firelight. To be cherished. To be held. Just…_

She couldn't have verbalized any of these impressions. Gratitude flooded her as she realized that even though she was lonelier than ever, still there was that figure next to her, within arm's reach – his outlines may be blurred and wavy a bit, but he is emitting inviting warmth. While murmuring incoherent word-fragments, she leaned closer and closer, until one of her hands found a hold on a collar, and right after taking notice of the enjoyable safety of a protective arm encircling her, she nuzzled her face comfortably into the crook of his neck.

At the same moment, in another corner of the town, an empty bottle landed on the floor from the loosened grip of an unconscious man.


	9. Headlights On Dark Roads

**Chapter 9  
**Headlights On Dark Roads

"_My tongue is lost, oh, I can't tell you__  
Please just see it in my eyes…"  
_______________________________

Her hand met something fluffy and the odd feeling dragged her to wakefulness. The light that intruded through the gap of her eyelids cut like a blade, thus she had to squeeze her eyes back shut before being able to blink them more or less open. It was only then that she realized that she was lying on her bed, over the comforter, fully clothed except for her shoes; and the fluffy thing turned out to be Wilson's head.

He was halfway on the bed, halfway on the floor, in a kneeling-like position looking so uncomfortable that she had to wince just at the sight of it.

It seemed like having been hit on the head had somehow disturbed his sleep: he lifted his forehead from his arms and looked around. Saying that the expression on his face showed disorientation would have been a strong understatement. But his confusion went away quickly; he rubbed his stiff neck, granting Cameron a warm sleepy smile.

"I couldn't take you home to my place, you understand. Neighbors… they… you know. So I apologize but had to search for your keys in your purse. …I had no idea that you had…"

His boyish grin was rewarded with a fast approaching pillow. Its sender got her punishment immediately: she groaned from the consequences of her quick movement, clutching her head. They laughed, though Cameron a bit weakly.

"I meant to go home. But you started shaking when I laid you down, so I rather sent the cab away. In case you needed anything, you know. I hope you don't mind too much. I'm leaving right now."

Cameron observed him with a tender smile. She knew exactly that the worry for her well-being had been just a part of why he'd stayed. Sometimes anywhere feels better than the place you once called home.

"Why the rush?" – she said gently – "I make you breakfast. You don't have to be afraid of a blast for loafing about the whole night long anyway, do you?"

As soon as the words fell from her lips, she wanted to take them back. She just felt so close to her friend now that she simply had the urge for a bit of teasing.

Luckily, Wilson didn't even flinch, just smiled at her sadly:

"You have no idea how much I'd like to get one…"

Cameron briefly brushed her hand over his arm while crawling out of bed.

"Ouch… owww" – she rubbed her aching temples – "I'll be nice and let you use the shower first. I take care of breakfast."

"Very generous, yet illogical. No offense but you look like someone who could use a shower more than I do."

To Cameron's wild protesting, he added:

"Hasn't Hou… haven't you ever heard of my world renowned pancakes? Let me… Only if you don't start breathing fire if someone touches anything in your kitchen."

"I do not have any emotional bond with my kitchen, to say the least. If you can find the pan – because don't ask me about it! –, feel free to explore." – She knew she should have resisted a little longer, but the idea of a steaming shower was way too inviting.

She had just closed the bathroom door behind herself when the doorbell rang. Wilson froze, suddenly aware of the ambiguity of the situation. He heard Cameron's voice, telling him to answer it.

"I… I'm not sure it's a good idea!" – he said in a raised voice through the bathroom door.

"Don't worry, just my neighbor looking for her cat again!" – came the muffled answer – "It keeps showing up on my threshold when escaped. Tell her I haven't seen it this time!"

Wilson nodded and ran his fingers through his hair on his way to the front door.

"Thanks!!" – he heard from the bathroom's direction.

He remembered he'd turned the key in the lock only once the night before, because he'd been preoccupied with a half-conscious and very cuddly Cameron. A smile tugged on the corners of his mouth at the memory. His mind was just a second late to register the shouting and stop his motion of opening the door.

"CAMERON, who the heck you're talk-…"

*

He'd woken up four times during the morning, just able to make it to the bathroom to throw up. Or rather, truth to be told, three times made it and once… nearly. In the meantime, he'd been cursing himself, because normal people with a mentionable alcohol poisoning cannot think but of survival, while his mind hadn't stopped revolving around her, even in his position of total embarrassment.

Later, after almost twenty minutes under the icy stream of the shower, he'd managed to get dressed, and had taken the bike. What was he going to say to her? Apologize? Commit his undying love for her? No way; he'd rather been thinking about telling her off, hurting her, scaring her away for good. He hadn't exactly known why to do that: though he'd regained control over his body, his thoughts had still been chaotic and meaningless.

He'd have to stop once to empty his (already empty) guts again. He'd sworn loudly, waking the annoyingly peaceful suburb up for sure. When he'd finally noticed the familiar building, despite the thought of all those damn stairs waiting for him to climb, he'd let out a short sigh of relief. He never should have left.

*

The two men were standing frozen on either side of the door, dumbstruck. The sight of his (_former_) best friend was like ten more cold showers for House. He sobered up in a second, though he felt his stomach turn again, this time from this obvious manifestation of betrayal.

His premonitions had been right all along, while watching them have lunch together, smile at each other… while witnessing those late night rendezvous' in Wilson's office, hid by the darkness of his own balcony.

He reorganized his features and craned his neck over Wilson's shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Did she at least change the sheets?"

For a second, he thought Wilson would hit him. But the other man swallowed his temper and warned him in a restrained voice:

"Don't be pathetic, House."

House's face twitched.

"_I_ am being pathetic? Look at yourself. Doorknob still warm after Mrs. Wilson number three and you're already working on number four. I'm sure you even have a potential number five up your sleeve. Have fun with pinning this one into your collection."

This time it wouldn't have taken much for Wilson to lose his self-control. His blood rushed into his face and his knuckles went white from clutching the edge of the door with all his strength. But House just threw him a last disgusted look and started limping away quickly.

"HOUSE!!..." – he whispered after him as loud as he could, but he couldn't risk Cameron to overhear. He closed the door instead and started pacing the living room, rubbing his face vigorously.

He was already standing in the middle of the room with his jacket on when Cameron emerged from the bathroom, drying her hair with a towel (glad that she finally had managed to get rid of the smell of smoke), smiling angelically.

"I gotta go. I… I'm so sorry; I owe you this breakfast. I…"

Cameron stared at him, puzzled.

"What happened, James? Who was it?"

Wilson couldn't hide the sudden panic on his face, but at least he managed to stop his voice from shaking.

"Your neighbor. She's a very sweet old lady, really. But now I really must leave. I'll explain later, sorry!!"

Cameron didn't move, kept staring at him. Something's very wrong here.

"James… she's 35."

"Yeah! Yeah, of course she is I'm… sorry, see you, Allison!" – with this, he almost ran out the door, not even looking back. He left a very confused Cameron behind.

She collapsed on her sofa, a hand squeezed on the forehead, in her gesture of concentration. Her head was still throbbing, thoughts messy; and now this…

_What the hell happened here?!_

*

He sped far beyond speed limit, but he still felt at an old western movie shooting: standing in place while celluloid moments of his life are rushing past him. Each and every frame tells stories of betrayal.

First he had been unintentionally heading towards the bar he took Cameron to after the Monster Truck rally. But he'd decided he wouldn't be that sappy, and took a sharp turn. Before getting back to the city, he chose another road leading out towards the fields.

_First scene. His mother's warm touch on his head that he hid in her lap. Her soothing voice, suddenly cut off by the sound of an opening door and heavy, approaching footsteps. She pushes him quickly away and jumps to her feet, as if being caught doing something improper. Then it's her face, behind the kitchen curtain; inside, in the warmth and light, while him out on the cold lawn._

The street lights flickered on around him and he shivered.

_His only good buddy at the university, laughing with mouth full of pizza, on the dorm room floor next to him. He is laughing too; not knowing yet that the guy will tell him on to save his own ass when their lecturer notices the suspicious similarity between their tests. He knew_, he'd thought later, _that I had to pass that exam, otherwise… _And he'd told him on anyway. He'll have to find Weber and take revenge.

The wind was getting cool on his hands and lower face. He passed the last street lamp and all he could see now were the pale outlines of the clouds in the last remainder of sunlight, and a long triangle shaped segment of the road before him. He felt a dread of the oncoming memory, but he couldn't avoid it, no matter what he tried to concentrate on as distraction.

_Stacy's victorious laughter as the paint from her weapon stains his protector vest. She is cool, cheeky and very attractive. That toy bullet must have shot him right in the heart. _A blur, and then the picture is clear again. _She is laughing this time as well, on his coach; they are throwing peanuts at each other. She is scolding him for the food that will stay hidden in the gaps of the furniture forever; but she is still laughing and her glowing face is closer and closer to his, until he silences her with a rough, possessive kiss. He takes a fistful of her hair and forces her under himself. And he is burning painfully for her._

He felt that pain again now, but this time, instead of his chest, in his right thigh holding on strongly on the powerful machine underneath him. His hand squeezed unintentionally the throttle again, and the bike took off as if having crawled slowly until then.

He almost brushed a wooden fence as he took a curve in the last instant. He had to gather all his physical and mental strength to keep the huge vehicle under control. He started getting exhausted but he liked the feeling of being drained. He craved to be empty.

Suddenly his own, absurdly long shadow appeared on the concrete before him. Soon he heard another engine roar over his own, and two sharp headlights blinded him for a second, reflecting in his rearview mirrors.

His first thought was he got busted, but then he realized there was no cop light. He tried to speed up even more, and the mysterious driver flashed at him. He ignored it and took the next sharp curve. He felt the bike twist a bit but he regained control and drove on, breathing ragged and blood drumming in his ears. He tasted adrenaline. So this is how it has to end?

The back of the bike slipped again. He cursed loudly, though he couldn't hear his own voice. He put all his weight on the left, braked with full force and left the road. The bumpy field threw him in the air once or twice, but soon the bike came to a halt. He cut the engine and exhaled sharply before breathing in again; he tore the helmet off his head and started yelling at the top of his voice towards the now still headlights.

"ARE YOU FUCKING TRYING TO KILL ME???"

The driver's door flung open and a man with messy brown hair stepped out, looking ghostly pale in the odd light. He was breathing heavily, too, and he had to steady himself with a hand on the top of the car. The car House now recognized. After some seconds of staring contest, Wilson called in a low, yet steady voice:

"Get in, you moron."


	10. Open Your Eyes

**Chapter 10**  
Open Your Eyes

"_My bones ache, my skin feels cold,__  
And I'm getting so tired and so old…"  
_______________________________

"And then she went running to you?"

"Stop pretending you still don't know her. Took me hours to drag it out."

"Good for you, having so much free time at work."

"Look who's talking."

House seemed to find his own digits very interesting: he kept fiddling and examining them.

"You know… actually, I've never thought your wreck could keep up with my baby for this long. Must say I'm impressed."

"Well I could have lived without this spontaneous car pursuit. I was freaked out you'd wind up on my windshield."

"Too bad for the polish, huh?"

"Yes, among others."

They sank into an almost comforting silence before Wilson spoke up.

"I was pissed off." – he confessed.

"So you found it a good idea to smear me on a tree? Or two?"

"I just wanted you to fuckin' stop and face me like an adult."

"Watch your tongue, Jimmy, I might learn it and Mommy won't be pleased!"

"Oh please."

"Are you still pissed off?"

Wilson had to think for a second.

"No. I think not."

"No problem; feel free to give me near-death experiences anytime I happen to annoy you."

"Maybe I will, thanks." – He paused. – "You?"

"Me what?"

"Are you…?"

Now it was House's turn to think.

"You really didn't pee on my grass?"

"For God's sakes, stop referring to her like that! …Gosh, sometimes I don't understand myself, why I keep trying to be any good to you."

House wiggled his eyebrows.

"Because you can't resist my charming, intellectual personality? Plus, of course, nice ass, too…"

"Oh yeah, and I'm also getting enough of gay jokes. Don't you think it's childish?!"

"Oh careful. Words can hurt, you know?!" – he spectacularly squeezed a hand over his heart. Then he left the eye-rolling Wilson be.

"Anything else you can't bear about me?" – he asked after a while, quietly.

Wilson looked at him, with something close to friendly eyes.

"Tons. But nothing I can't take for a couple of years longer without freaking out, I suppose."

House's blue glance flickered at him for a moment, then he nodded, hardly noticeable. Wilson huffed loudly, and started drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He only stopped at House's sudden voice.

"Now that's settled," – he declared nonchalantly – "what's for dinner?"

Wilson stared at him, then after him as his friend got out of the car. He only let his smirk crack into a full-blown smile when House was already busy with examining his beloved bike throughoutly.

*

Another ordinary day started at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. The ER dealt with the most urgent cases, then patients were either sent home or forwarded to various departments. The clinic was crowded as usual; white lab coats appeared from time to time in the colorful mess of people, nurses were on the phone at their station in the middle. The comforting sound of chitchatting filled the brightly lit cafeteria, and promising scents from cooking lunch already lingered in the air. Burning red maple leaves cast shadows on higher windows and on the faces of some poor souls behind them, making them wonder whether the sight would be one of their last memories.

The day started as usual for Dr. Robert Chase. He took his time in preparing for the day, as he knew his direct boss wouldn't show up before ten. He splashed cold water on his sleepy face, then applied some moisturizer. There's a difference between metrosexual and simply well cared, he thought. He got dressed and briefly brushed his hair. He'd put much less effort in keeping his hairstyle perfect than House thought, he smirked, and shrugged a shoulder. Nothing but a gift by nature. He took his car and, after peeking around for a possible superior, he slumped down on the chair next to Foreman in the diagnostics room.

The day started as usual for Dr. Eric Foreman as well. He turned off his alarm clock, and after a few pushups, a shower and a throughout shaving, he put on the clothes prepared the evening before. He was already sitting at the glass topped table and had read through their patient's latest test results by the time his younger colleague arrived. The only thing he was missing was coffee; otherwise said…

The day started almost as usual for Dr. Allison Cameron. After waking up, she allowed herself a bit of lazing, spread out on her bed. She enjoyed the excitement in her stomach, and smiled at the world like a little girl on her birthday morning. Her mind lingered around her mission and her fellow conspirator, and she felt warmth around the heart. It felt so good, being back at high school in spirit. …She stirred up in panic when she realized that she'd slept back. She got ready in ten minutes, but arrived at the hospital after half past nine anyway, followed by her colleagues' reproachful glance, both clutching their empty mugs. They immediately looked more pleased though when she pulled out the bagels she'd brought as conciliation. While the boys were chewing on them contentedly, she got herself busy with the coffee machine, cursing herself for being late for the second time in a month.

This morning was nothing to usual for Dr. Gregory House. The familiar old hatred towards the world was there, but now accompanied by a multiplied ache in his thigh and, as novelty, a sharp pain in his shoulder for several days. The latter had been worsened by Wilson's annoying remarks, insisting it was his conscience, not his arm. Last time, he'd hit him on the calf with his cane, and asked with a fake sympathy when his friend had doubled over in pain: "Oh you feel bad about sleeping with Cameron, too?".

He groaned and rolled to the edge of the bed. He steadied himself with his good leg in the last instant to avoid tumbling over to the floor, to his shame. He felt about for his Vicodin on the nightstand, and sighed relieved after swallowing two. His leg made impossible to take the bike, so he got in the Corvette instead, a second of gratefulness crossing his mind to some rather sympathetic Mafioso for it. On his drive to the hospital, he was thinking about their new case, irritated: a defiant teenage orphan that resisted confessing drug use, despite his record. Why do people keep lying even if they know we know the obvious? Idiots.

*

House set forth his new theory about drugs being stored in fat tissue, then released into the system in case of weight loss; with his ducklings hanging on his words before recoiling when he got to the point about the unconventional test to prove his right. As usual, he looked unimpressed; he was fiddling with the strap of the medical sling he'd been prescribed to relieve his aching shoulder some. He almost jumped when Cameron stepped to him to help fix it, with the most annoying expression of care on her face. He gave her his scariest death glare, but she didn't even flinch. He'd have to get a crucifix. Or garlic. On second thought, the latter could actually work.

After the three doctors left (fuming but obedient) towards the sauna to sweat a seizure out of their patient, House decided to go and find some lunch. And, as usual, this process required locating his best friend and its purse first.

Wilson's door opened to an empty office, so House went down to the cafeteria. Finally something lucky: he spotted his friend in the first third of the longish queue. He joined him without a moment of hesitation, deaf to the sounds of indignation coming from behind.

"Why I keep thinking I can escape…" – Wilson sighed, resigned, while mentally saying goodbye to his potato chips. A second later, the chips bag was already rustling in House's hand.

"Is that rhetorical?" – House retorted, showering him in chips crumbs. After a while, he declared out loud, making sure the cashier woman heard it:

"See, how generous I am: I'll only have salad to your conto." – meanwhile, he did his best in arranging the vegetables on his plate so that they covered the piece of steak entirely.

Wilson shook his head and paid for the meat as well, with an apologetic look and a slight blush. Then he followed House to the table.

House finished eating first, and busied himself with tearing a paper cup to stripes, to fold a flower of it later. When a petal he'd already fixed let go and sprang free, he slammed the remainder down on the table, mumbling something about damn environmental friendly restaurants and their lack of proper plastic cups.

The unusual impatience caught Wilson's attention. He put his fork down and waited for his friend to speak up. House took a look around first, then announced with a hint of fright in his eyes:

"I'm telling you, she's been pursuing me." – To the twitch of his friend's face, he shook his head. – "No kidding; she's _everywhere_. Sometimes I get nervous opening my closet. Things are getting creepy…"

Wilson swallowed the laughter that started bubbling up inside his chest.

"Why so surprised? You sang me anthems yourself about your irresistible backside…"

House just managed a grimace, when a scrubs-clad Cameron, wet hair combed off her face, joined them at the table. House threw Wilson a panicked look.

"Ah, Dr. House. Jack's seizure in the sauna was proven unrelated to the circumstances. He's been having them every 15-20 minutes. Sorry to disappoint, but it was nothing but a coincidence."

"You know my point about coincidences, don't you?"

"Yes I do. And you know my point about Jack loving his siblings, don't you?"

House looked confused.

"What do you mean?"

Cameron switched to a tone making him run for his money.

"Love is an emotion certain people experience, similar to happiness." – She paused. – "No. Maybe I should give a more relatable example."

"Oh snap!" – House only managed to say, while Wilson almost fell off his chair from amusement.

"See?!" – House turned back to him when Cameron had left. Only then his brain registered the telltale glance between the two he'd caught from the corner of his eye. He sat up higher in his chair, eyes wide, and he only could gape and point his finger vigorously at his friend, to express his indignation.

"You… you… traitor, you… Jimmy Wilson, you godforsaken turncoat! What did you tell her?!"

Wilson made the most exaggerated innocent face on Earth.

"What do you mean? I hardly speak to her since you declared your territorial rights!"

"You enlighten me right now if you don't want your soon-to-be-ex-wife to find Cuddy's panties in your glove box."

"Wait; how would you… never mind. Well I… _maybe_ I mentioned something about you being a stubborn coward, who would need to be hit on the head with a baseball racket to finally realize what he's missing."

House stared at him with an expression as if said hit had had actually happened.

"You told her _not_ to leave me alone?! Please, next time just unleash hounds on me."

"Please, House, don't be theatrical. She's not some ferocious beast. She's a beautiful, smart, funny young woman, who could keep your ass out of danger, or, I don't know… make you happy?"

"Again with the Hallmark crap." – House snapped – "I'm _fine_!"

Wilson searched for his gaze, and shook his head a little:

"I don't want you to be _fine_… I want you to be happy." – He smiled. – "Or should I give a more relatable example?"

"I'm _so_ lucky to have my personal Dr. Phil. Don't you have some random nurse to keep your romantic mind busy by the way?"

"House, the last thing I wanted was to get involved in your chaotic love life, you can bet on it. But, sad but true, you two guys seem to be my closest friends, and from the way you've been circling around each other from day one, I got a crazy idea about you fitting each other right."

House seemed to have no comments on the issue, so Wilson went on.

"You know, when I first talked to her about you after… the conversation in my car we don't talk about… I still wanted to give her the same advice I'd give to any healthy woman: to stay away from you as far as possible. But I couldn't get out of my mind how you'd spoken of her. Before that… grass… metaphor, of course."

Much to his surprise, House still didn't say anything. He hardly could recall a time when he'd kept his mouth shut for this long.

"Stop trying to protect her. She hates that. What she feels for you is nothing like a crush, but she's also learnt how to take care of her heart. If you don't want to hurt her, then simply don't. But don't push her away. She's still human; and if you keep shutting her down, sooner or later she'll give up on you. Try to look at her putting your fears aside for once, and you'll see what I'm talking about."

It seemed like he'd reached House's discomfort zone. The man stood up and left with his tray in his tied up hand. The fact that he was actually about to return it told Wilson that something really big was about to happen.


	11. The Finish Line

**Chapter 11**  
The Finish Line

"_Take a deep breath,  
Take in all that you could want…"  
_

* * *

House arrived back at his office with the firm decision of ignoring and forgetting Wilson's preaching, and hiding away behind closed blinds, alone with the most distracting PSP game he could find, from everybody and everything outside his safe shell. But after the third descending sound effect in five minutes from the device in his hands, he threw it back on his desk, and picked up the ball instead.

He forced his brain to focus on their patient's mysterious seizures, but his sore shoulder, plus the uncomfortably tight throat and chest kept distracting him. He felt a slight panic at the unusual lack of full control. He had no doubts he would eventually regain it, yet the feeling sucked.

What could he have said that had brought Wilson to this categorical conclusion? If anyone else had come up with something like "ooee, I can tell she means a thing to you", he'd have sarcastically laughed them in the face. But it was Jim; and the thought that his friend knew something about him that he wasn't fully aware of scared the hell out of him.

The thing that finally defeated his intentions of perfect ignorance was a ridiculous little nothing; something so insignificant that perhaps he wouldn't even have noticed if his nerves hadn't been stirred by Wilson's unasked heart-to heart monologue.

When his bouncing ball swept a file off his untidy desk, it revealed Cameron's reading glasses.

This little piece of her amongst his stuff made him picture her sitting just where he was now, brows furrowed over thin black rims, little hands trying to fight their way through his mess. He couldn't help but suddenly realize that this had always worked like that. Ever since she'd been there (for him), she'd always cleaned after him; either in relieving him of torturously boring paperwork, or believing in him when no-one else did, defending his ideas, or just contrarily, standing up to him, reminding him it was a human being they were dealing with, which point of view usually held the key to the final solution (despite him claiming it a useless distraction). All in all, suddenly he saw her in an entirely different light: something like a compliment to his imperfections, no matter how sappy this sounded in his head.

And the forgotten glasses, an unexpected forgetfulness from someone usually so annoyingly accurate rendered him soft for good; a temporary but serious weakness that he was sure he would regret the consequences of for a lifetime. But it was too late not thinking and, what's worse, acting on it. Wilson's words were replaying in his head over and over: _"you would fit each other right"_. The idea may as crazy and it could be; but why not test it to find out for sure, like he used to do with his extreme medical theories?

Before he could have reconsidered, he fell in step with his prettiest underling in the hallway.

"So" – he started suddenly awkward, losing most of his determination – "how was that about Jeff passing out from sharing a steamy room with the sweaty Dr. Chase, again?"

"Jack." – a reproachful tone and a matching glance – "We were constantly checking his vitals, when after fourteen minutes…"

"Would you like to get a drink?"

It was out so quickly he didn't have time to get frightened himself.

He stopped and turned to face her, so she turned, too, frozen in her place. Her mind had been so much on her professional role that the first shock wasn't the unexpected proposal, but the shock of Dr. House changing topic from an unsolved case. She couldn't do anything but stare.

"What?" – House continued, blue gaze hungrily scanning her face for reaction – "I drink. You drink. We could do it at the same time. At the same table." – He hesitated, then lifted up his right a bit. – "See? Now I'm a puppy with _two_ achy paws to take care of." – _Oh please, shut up._

Cameron's facial muscles still refused to obey her. The only thing she could think of was _thank you, James_.

*

"The wide side's too short. You're gonna look like Lou Costello."

House impatiently tugged on the ends of his tie, and started the complicated process all over again.

He had no idea how a nonchalant invitation for a drink had turned into a reservation at Café Spiletto, and him currently standing in front of his wardrobe, staring at his own fast and nervous movements in the mirror hanging on the inside of the closet door. He seemed to have the need, once he'd finally brought himself to do something, to do it properly.

After a particularly sharp pain in his shoulder, he ripped the helpless piece of fabric off his neck. It wouldn't be visible under the damn sling anyway. But then he remembered the no tie, no service policy, so he started silently cursing his choice of date location again. Date. Damn.

"This is a mistake."

Wilson made a face. Of course it is: why have dinner with the most wonderful woman of the world? He sat up a bit higher from his position of fake nonchalance, stretched out on House's couch, rustling with the newspaper he was staring at the same line of for a half an hour. No, House can't screw this up now. He won't let him to, no matter what.

"Open doors for her. Help her with her chair." – he explained, slowly, like to a dummy. House cut him off irritably.

"I _have_ been on a date."

"Er… Not since disco died." – Wilson pointed out. – "Comment on her shoes, her earrings; then move on to D.H.A."

House's hand stopped in mid-air while trying to give his hairstyle a bit more of a groomed look.

"Her _dreams_, _hopes_ and _aspirations_."

House grimaced. Why this has to be so complicated? Why the empty clichés again? He wanted it so badly to be different this time.

"Trust me." – Wilson assured him. – "Just tell her what you think of her. Tell her how…" – He bit his tongue in the last instant. House was already eyeing him suspiciously from the mirror. He really couldn't say out loud what _he_ would say to Cameron himself. This is not about him tonight. Actually, this isn't about him at all.

"I should cancel." – House started again. He limped to the fridge and opened it.

"That's a good idea. Settle your nerves. Get me a beer too." – Wilson commented. Yeah, he could use some booze right now.

House shook his head, still just staring.

"No beer."

"You're gonna _eat_ before dinner?!"

House finally reached into the fridge and when he pulled back, Wilson couldn't believe his own eyes. Between the long fingers, there was a fragile little corsage, in a plastic box, tied around with a white ribbon.

"This is pretty lame, right?" – House held it up, a little embarrassed. Wilson had to get up and take a closer look to make sure he hadn't misseen anything. He stopped next to his friend, hands on hips, and a wide smile of relief shone up on his face. He was almost grateful for House's thoughtfulness now. _Allison will be so happy._

"I think she likes lame." – he managed to say softly.

*

Gentle fingertips brushed over white petals, and Cameron raised her gleaming eyes to House.

"It's beautiful." – _And I love you_, she wanted to say, but didn't want to scare him off now, in the finish line. So she put her feelings in encrypted words instead. – "And you look very handsome."

House hated himself for feeling embarrassed.

"Thank you." – he said awkwardly. Cameron tried to lighten the mood with a weak attempt of small talk.

"I've always loved this restaurant."

Fortunately, House gratefully snapped at the opportunity.

"Yeah. It's changed a lot since the last time I was here. Used to be a strip joint."

Cameron chuckled and it sent House's blood rush to his face. He instinctively wanted to express some of what she made him feel, but he kept to Wilson's advice instead.

"Nice earrings."

Cameron looked surprised, otherwise pleased.

"My mom's, thank you." – She eyed him a bit suspiciously. Her premonitions were proven right when House continued.

"Nice shoes." – He was stirring in his chair in complete disarray. – "Comfortable?" – Well, this didn't come out too good. He already dreaded the D.H.A. part and the scale of the screw-ups he was most likely about to make there.

Cameron let out a short sigh of resignation, and tried to capture House's gaze.

"I'm not expecting you to be someone you're not." – she assured him. She hoped he got the significance and deeper meaning of her words. She started feeling seriously sorry for him. Discomfort was screaming from each of his features. He looked everywhere but at her. She was getting awkward, too, so she reached to the wine card for help, but her eyes kept flickering back to him. It seemed like three completely different men: his intimidating boss, the passionate lover who had kissed her breathless not even so long ago, and this one in his sky blue shirt and neatly bond tie (she quickly shooed away the mental image of Wilson fixing it for him – though she'd never know…), looking as nervous and lost as one could be. She couldn't help but love all three of them with each cell of her body.

She slammed the card shut and set it aside. She took a deep breath as if plunging into water.

"According to Freud, and I'm paraphrasing…" – she started with determined, parallel gestures. House's eyes widened in an exasperated grimace. She can't seriously come up with this crap right now.

"…the instinct of love toward an object demands a mastery to obtain it." – _Oh yes, she can. Welcome to hell._ – "And if a person feels they can't control the object, or feel threatened by it, they act negatively toward it. …Like an eight-grade boy punching a girl."

_Please let James be right about being pushy to him_, she thought desperately. Or else he is leaving her and her analysis at the table in a second.

House still had a rather suffering expression on.

"I treat you like garbage, so I must really want to go out with you."

Cameron smiled at him brightly. He's in more trouble than he thought.

"Given your Freudian theory, what does it mean that I asked you out?"

Cameron's grin got even wider.

"That you're getting in touch with your feelings."

House snorted sarcastically.

"So there's absolutely no point in trying to say I just wanted to assure you again I still thought this was the worst idea possible?"

Cameron held his gaze now firmly, eyes filled with excited hope.

"Sorry, no."

The corner of House's mouth just twitched a bit; he dared not smile at her. He still was full of terrible doubts he saw no chance to defeat soon. Cameron must have felt something of it, because her face grew more serious.

"Perhaps you're right, and this is really my last chance with you. I don't want to waste it talking about what wines you like or what movies you hate. I want to know how you feel. About me." – she specified, as if it hadn't been obvious. She felt dizzy from her own straightforwardness. This evening she'll remember as the day of either her best decision ever, or the worst.

House examined her face for a second (_more open than ever_), then he bent forward, not wanting anyone to overhear his words.

"You live under the delusion that you can fix everything that isn't perfect." – He wasn't avoiding her glance this time, but he held his eyes back from showing anything of his soul. He really didn't mean to be harsh, but he couldn't stop his overflowing thoughts from forming words. – "That's why you married a man who was dying of cancer."

Cameron's smile faded, but he went on mercilessly.

"You don't _love_ – you _need_. And now that your husband is dead, you're looking for your new charity case."

She felt her stomach turn, but House's next words put the speech into a different light for her.

"That's why you're going out with me. I'm twice your age. I'm not… great looking. I'm not charming. I'm not even nice." – This time he didn't release her gaze, and she could literally see the change in his eyes, from defiant to broken. – "What I am is what you need. I'm damaged."

He felt pure loathing for himself for not being able to start the monologue with the words that held the truth: _I'm so afraid that…_

He couldn't stand her sit there, literally frozen, with that broken light in her eyes. He could have banged himself in the head with the huge yellow flower installation next to them. How did they get this far?

Now he would have done anything to change her expression. Her hand lay on the table, fingertips touching the stem of her glass. He didn't have the courage to touch her, but he swallowed and laid his large hand down next to hers.

His heart jumped when her knuckles brushed against his palm as if some magnetic force had pulled them together, but an instant later he realized she had just moved her hand to take it off the table. He felt his world crumble, and, bizarre enough, he heard his PSP's game over signal faintly in his head.

Her features didn't loosen up any as she sat up higher in her chair and looked House straight in the eye.

"Nice argumentation. Extra points for the fact that you used all the relevant information you've got."

Her voice cut like a knife and for the first time in his life, House felt like sinking under the ground.

"Also another mentionable effort to push me away." – she continued – "A short while ago, it would even have worked."

_Whoa, wait._ He had to blink. It'd have worked _then_, this means _now_… How's this possible?

"You know, I'd say your enormous insecurities aren't any of my business so don't push it all on me, but I'm afraid if we want any kind of… anything, they actually are."

If _we_ want, she'd said. He was getting the impression he'd gotten his equal rival this time.

"So I rather say that though it tears me apart, hearing you talk of yourself like this, you have full right to feel that way. But don't you _ever_ dare doubt me or my feelings for you again."

What he saw wasn't a girl with a crush that he liked to imagine when trying to brush the whole issue off, but a woman in love, eyes flaming, ready fight for what she wanted; and all he could do was stare, astonished.


	12. In My Arms

Er... I don't think I have too much to say in my defense... perhaps a promise: that I'll never ever start publishing a long story again until it's sitting on my computer fully finished!!!  
Thank you all for your patience! I hope that this chappy, you'll consider something worth waiting for... :")  
Only one more to go!!!...

* * *

**Chapter 12  
**In My Arms

"_There is a silent pact of trust__  
that I never could admit…"  
_______________________________

"No, it's not about… I just… I couldn't sleep all night, and now you're calling with _this_… No, I'm not making any drama, I… Julie, please, I just… Ju-…"

He stared at the phone in his hand for a moment longer, then shook his head. He really didn't want to overdramatize anything. Things couldn't be any more tragic anyway. Except maybe if he would have had to leave and stay with House, for one; but fortunately _(nice kind of fortune…)_,Julie had willingly chosen a small flat to rent and now just called him to agree in an appointment between their lawyers. Great way to start a day.

The desired distraction finally arrived, in this case limping, signaling his entry with a loud strike of his cane against the glass door. Wilson quickly maneuvered around the nurses' station and did his best to corner his friend up, instantly examining his face for any news. But this was one of the rare occasions he couldn't read House's expression at all.

After a few seconds of zero reaction to his urging gaze, Wilson started the interrogation.

"Care to share _anything_ about the dinner?"

"I didn't plan to!" – came the bold answer, as House started casually limping towards the elevators.

"Plans don't work; tell me anyway."

"She had the ravioli. I had the puttanesca."

"Yes, I really wanna know about the quality of the food." – He could have punched House in the nose. – "Either something very good happened or something very bad. Which is that?"

"Well, I did have a little indigestion afterwards. Maybe it was the garlic bread."

The closing elevator doors covered both his nonchalant and Wilson's irate faces.

*

Late again; maybe she'd have to get used to her new weakness. Maybe someone was actually rubbing off on her. Unfortunately, her sneaking in didn't remain unnoticed.

"You're in late." – Foreman commented – "Good time last night?"

"How the…" – she gasped – "Word spreads faster here than in a high school classroom!"

"Only good news." – Chase grinned – "So how'd the night go?"

"It was _fine_." – she snapped – "How was your evening?"

The boys exchanged a meaningful look. Cameron knew they wouldn't leave her alone until she spilled some beans, or at least pretended doing so.

"Fine, really. Maybe but the wine. Something made my eyes puffy."

Foreman, the ever pessimistic one, already had his theory set.

"Yeah. Crying in your pillow can do that."

_Yeah. And lying awake all night, guarding his scent in a stupid scarf like a teenage girl can do that, too._

"It was the wine." – she stated. Then she took pity on them. It actually felt good they were so eager to know, after all. She continued slowly, carefully choosing her words.

"We had a nice, candid conversation."

_The hardness of the doorframe against her back, a hand under her skirt. A hot palm over her thigh. Squeeze. Kiss. Grab. Hold. Sigh. Moan. Kiss. Cold; and he's gone, leaving her panting and searching for her keys with trembling fingers._

"No snide comments?" – Foreman asked in disbelief.

"I guess – when we talked about you guys!" – She spun on her heel to begin with her daily tasks, turning her back to her two gaping colleagues.

*

She decided to start with the most agreeable one of said tasks of her morning routine.

She soundlessly slipped through the blinds-covered door, warming her hands (a little cold from nervousness) on the steaming red mug.

She couldn't suppress a grin when she saw him. Baba O'Riley was blaring through premium iPod speakers, and she felt the music fill and stir her tired body up instantly. A perfect morning song, she thought contentedly. Maybe she'd get to know more of them if they…

He had his back to her, not having noticed her enter, too busy with enthusiastically air-playing the keyboard intro, the two right-angled parts of his desk imaginary synthesizers. Until some sixth sense made him peek over his shoulder, at her. He cracked a small smile, never stopping playing, and he shouted over the loud music.

"I love this part!" – and he wasn't late grabbing the invisible sticks as drums came in.

Then he let his arms fall lazily, and accepted the coffee from Cameron, making sure his hand held hers in place. The previous smile crew back into the corners of his mouth, but stayed definitely present in his eyes.

"House…" – came her breathy whisper.

"Don't." – his voice wasn't much louder either.

"House… I'm burning my palm."

_Shit._ He quickly took the hot mug from her, and she sneaked her relieved hand up his arm, past his shoulder that currently felt as if it never had hurt (_damn smartass Wilson_), to the side of his neck. Her other hand was shortly to follow, and she caressed his face gently down to hers.

"What you're doing?" – he only managed to say weakly before her lips reached his.

He fought for his eyes to stay open – he literally couldn't take them off of her; but they slipped shut without him even noticing as their tongues met.

She pulled back just a breath away, only to let a wide grin take over her lips. She was somewhat ashamed; but this whole undeclaredness thrilled her to the bone.

No declarations? That wasn't entirely true. His passion the night before, then the way he'd literally run away, avoiding her glance, told her everything his words didn't. A hell of an encrypted language, but she thought she began mastering it. …Even though she'd cursed him a little for his self-control, in her bed alone, biting on the corner of her comforter, a small fist guarding the warmth of his kiss in her palm.

That palm now slipped onto his chest before pulling away. Time to get professional. She granted House a last bright smile, and left towards the corridor. He only woke up from his stupor when another track started playing; and only then he realized his fingers were idly playing on the still warm trace of her lips on his.

*

He couldn't suppress an appreciative smirk when peering back at her from his position at the white board, looking rather black by that time from the cobweb of symptoms and possible causes scribbled all over it. She didn't return his glance; she was sitting at the glass topped table with her back straight, black rimmed glasses on, and that incredibly kissable pout of her lips. Her cheeks were just a shade darker rose than usual; otherwise she was the statue of solemn professionalism.

Foreman was still dazed by the spectacular duel of words he'd just witnessed, but spotted House's expression anyway. He knew he was being juvenile, but the half-jealous, quarter-serious witticism was out before he could have reconsidered it.

"So that's the new rule, eh? Favoritism?"

House turned around, but the grin seemed plastered on his face. Just for a brief second, a thought of an hour or two on the clinic had crossed his mind, to help him find his way back to the good old path of misery. He indeed had a reputation to maintain, after all. But for now, nothing seemed to be able to spoil his mood.

"Oh c'mon. I know you've spent hours in the gym to sculpt your backside half as pleasurable to look at as hers, but I have to disillusion you: it's my intellect that's aroused to rock hard for the moment."

Cameron's cheeks flushed yet another grade pinker, and her shoulders were pulled up an inch or two, but she still didn't look up. Foreman dropped his gaze to the file, too, and grinned in disbelief. He had seen a couple of virtuosic solutions in House's team, but the way these two had practically finished each other's sentences, inspiring each other to new approaches each second or so for fifteen minutes, left him feel like a useless assistant (despite his own slowly but surely evolving position as the diagnostician's right hand man). But he couldn't deny their powerful synergy had charged him with professional enthusiasm as well.

Cameron finally shut the patient's file, and stood up.

"I go check _our_ theory myself; Chase must have the samples ready by now."

She slightly blushed at the pronoun, but held her chin high when leaving for the lab. She felt confident, strong and oddly complete.

*

The almost euphoric feeling of success only grew after a few seconds of scanning over the tiny tissue sample under the microscope lenses. She had just raised her head to go and affirm the diagnosis when she heard the lab door open. She smiled at House brightly.

"Bingo?" – he smiled back.

"Bingo."

He nodded, flicked his mobile open and ordered Foreman to start with the treatment. He returned his gaze to Cameron, and narrowed his eyes in an amused grimace.

"Lemme see it."

Cameron moved to make way for him, but his arms blocked her path on both sides, palms on the table. She held her breath as he took a peek into the microscope over her shoulder. Their bodies weren't touching, yet his closeness made the hair on the back of her neck stand.

Just like her a minute before, he felt glory flood his body and soul, too. He pulled back just enough to linger over her shoulder and inhale her scent. He still didn't touch her, but his lips were so close to her neck that his breath tickled her skin when he whispered.

"You owe me a visit."

*

Movements were sweet like drops of honey this time, as he backed her across the bedroom gently, until he laid her down on the bed, a hand on the small of her back. He buried his face in her scent on her naked belly; eyes squeezed shut, his fingertips exploring her hesitantly. This shouldn't go like this. This shouldn't mean this much. Hell, he's not 17 anymore!

She opened her eyes in surprise at the huge sigh that escaped his lips, hot breath burning her skin. He answered her questioning look with an apologetic grimace and another sigh. Then he shook his head and pushed himself up next to her, grabbed her around the waist and turned them around, until she was on top of him, hip to hip, a knee between his legs, chin on his chest, and a confused look on her face.

He opened his mouth to start once or twice, but changed his mind every time, until he finally brought himself to stick to a version of what he wanted to say. He looked her in the eyes, brushed away a strand of hair from her face (_only because it was tickling him_), and if already there, he continued caressing her cheek and temple.

"Attention, fragile." – he said gently, in a very low voice. – "And also mind broken pieces with sharp edges."

She pushed herself some higher with a palm on his chest. She still couldn't get bored with the thrilling feeling of his warmth. She smiled at him.

"I know; Wilson's already got me warned."

"What?! The son of a…"

"House… please." – she hushed him, nuzzling her nose under his chin.

"…Sorry. I just really wish to keep Jimmy out of my bedroom."

"Okay" – she whispered, and quickly distracted him with a sensual kiss. His hand slowly slipped in the crook of her knee, and he pulled her leg over his hip. His breath caught in his throat when he felt her heat.

He put his palm flat on the small of her back again, a bit under the waist of her panties, and pressed her against himself even more. He felt even his cheeks flush, along with his whole body, when she moaned into his mouth. He couldn't take it anymore: he slipped his hand between them, pushed their undergarments aside in a blink, and slid into her.

She let out a small cry of surprise, but pushed her hips almost immediately back down on him that she'd jerked away a bit from the tiny pain of the unexpected penetration. When she lifted herself up again, intending to start an instinctive rhythm, he pushed her back with both hands.

"Easy. We've got all night."

If anything, this sentence alone made it even harder for her, staying still, but just then, she felt his hips buck up a bit, him moving just millimeters inside her. She closed her eyes and let the breath out she'd been holding.

He started a torturously slow rhythm of tiny thrusts, but he filled her so much that they felt every twitch and pulsing of each other.

She was completely lost: all she could do was cling to him, hold herself up somehow. He felt so amazing that she hardly could remember being so turned on in her life.

"So, Dr. Cameron…" – House's slow, husky voice sent goosebumps all over her back. – "I suppose… after a period of…" – He thrust deeper into her, pulling a moan from both of them. – "…very effectual professional relationship… perhaps we'll have to get to know each other… from a different angle."

He grabbed her butt to keep her in place, then pushed on her right knee, urging both of them downwards, until she lay on top of him with her legs stretched.

Said angle was a little uncomfortable for him, especially the pressure on his partially insensitive scar, but not painful after all… Not at all…

"So… where did you grow up?"

Cameron couldn't suppress a chuckle, and House closed his eyes and breathed out sharply as he felt her tighten around him. He rewarded her with a forceful thrust, and her knees slipped up to his hips again.

"No answer?" – he managed to squeeze out between gritted teeth. He couldn't help but increase speed a bit.

"House…" – Her breathy voice almost made him lose it. – "For once in your life… will you shut up?!"

*

Some time into the night, when only their bodies were gleaming faintly in the dark room, still unable to get enough of each other, tangled together, sitting straight for the most contact possible, House opened his hazy eyes, so that Cameron saw them shine, too, and gradually slowed their rhythm down to a halt. Only their synchronized breathing could be heard, and both of them felt shivers run up and down their spines.

"Cameron."

"Yes" – she breathed.

"I think I-…"

"Shhhhh."


End file.
